Applied Geography: Principles and Practice [1 ed.] 9780415182683, 0415182689

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Applied geography: principles and practice Essential reading for geography, planning and environmental science students and researchers, and all those concerned with the nature of the relationship between people and the environment, this important volume presents a comprehensive introduction to applied geography. Demonstrating the usefulness of geographic research across the various sub-areas of the discipline, forty-nine leading experts in the field introduce and explore research which crosses the traditional boundary between physical and human geography. A wide range of key issues and contemporary debates are examined within the book’s main sections, which cover: • • • •

natural and environmental hazards environmental change and management challenges of the human environment techniques of spatial analysis.

Applied geography is the application of geographic knowledge and skills to identify the nature and causes of social, economic and environmental

problems and inform policies which lead to their resolution. The relevance and value of this applied approach, which cross-cuts inter- and intradisciplinary boundaries, has never been more apparent given the plethora of problem situations which confront modern societies, ranging from extreme natural events (floods, droughts, earthquakes), through environmental concerns (deforestation, disease, desertification), to human issues (crime, poverty, unemployment). Applied geography: principles and practice offers an invaluable introduction to useful research in physical environmental and human geography, and provides a new focus and reference point for investigating and understanding problemorientated research from a diverse range of perspectives and disciplines. The editor of this volume, Michael Pacione, is Professor of Geography at the University of Strathclyde, Glasgow, UK.

Applied geography: principles and practice An introduction to useful research in physical, environmental and human geography

Edited by MICHAEL PACIONE

London and New York

First published 1999 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2002. © 1999 Selection and editorial matter, Michael Pacione; individual chapters, the contributors All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

Applied geography: principles and practice/edited by Michael Pacione. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Geography. 2. Natural disasters. 3. Environmental management. 4. Nature—Effect of human beings on. 5. Spatial analysis (Statistics). I. Pacione, Michael. G133.A66 1999 910–dc21 98–53104 ISBN 0-415-18268-9 (hbk) ISBN 0-415-21419-X (pbk) ISBN 0-203-01251-8 Master e-book ISBN ISBN 0-203-20064-0 (Glassbook Format)

To CHRISTINE, MICHAEL JOHN and EMMA VICTORIA

Contents List of plates List of figures List of boxes List of tables List of contributors Preface Acknowledgements Introduction 1 In pursuit of useful knowledge: the principles and practice of applied geography Michael Pacione Part I

Natural and environmental hazards

2 Global warming Keith Boucher 3 Acid precipitation A.M.Mannion 4 Extreme weather events Rory Walsh 5 Earthquakes and vulcanism David Alexander 6 Landslides Michael Crozier 7 Floods Edmund Penning-Rowsell 8 Coastal erosion Tom Spencer 9 Physical problems of the urban environment Ian Douglas

x xii xvii xx xxiii xxvi xxviii 1 3

19 21 36 51 66 83 95 109 124

viii Part II

CONTENTS Environmental change and management

10 Water supply and management Adrian McDonald 11 Water quality and pollution Bruce Webb 12 Irrigation Peter Beaumont 13 Desertification Andrew Millington 14 Deforestation Martin Haigh 15 Maintaining biodiversity Nick Brown 16 Landscape evaluation Rosemary Burton 17 Environmental impact assessment John Blunden 18 Countryside recreation management Guy Robinson 19 The de-intensification of European agriculture Brian Ilbery 20 Wetlands conservation Max Wade and Elena Lopez-Gunn 21 Land-use conflict at the urban fringe Gordon Clark 22 Derelict and vacant land Philip Kivell 23 Sustainable tourism Lesley France 24 Townscape conservation Peter Larkham Part III

Challenges of the human environment

25 Urbanisation and counterurbanisation Tony Champion 26 Boundary disputes Gerald Blake 27 Political spaces and representation within the state Ron Johnston 28 Housing problems in the developed world Keith Jacobs 29 The geography of poverty and deprivation Michael Pacione 30 Segregation and discrimination David Herbert

135 137 152 172 188 200 222 236 246 257 274 288 301 309 321 333

345 347 358 375 390 400 414

CONTENTS 31 Socio-spatial variations in health Matthew Smallman-Raynor and David Phillips 32 Crime and fear of crime Norman Davidson 33 Retail location analysis Cliff Guy 34 Urban transport and traffic problems Brian Turton 35 Rural accessibility and transport Stephen Nutley 36 City marketing as a planning tool Michael Barke 37 Low-income shelter in the third world city Rob Potter 38 Informal sector activity in the third world city Sylvia Chant 39 HIV/AIDS, poverty, exclusion and the third world Tony Barnett Part IV

Techniques of spatial analysis

40 GIS, remote sensing and the problem of environmental change Roy Haines-Young 41 Cartography: from traditional to electronic and beyond David Green and Stephen King 42 Geodemographics, marketing and retail location Graham Clarke 43 Global positioning systems as a practical fieldwork tool: applications in mountain environments Ian Heywood, Graham Smith, Bruce Carlisle and Gavin Jordan 44 Computer simulation and modelling of urban structure and development Paul Longley Place index Subject index

ix 425 438 450 463 474 486 497 509 528

537 539 556 577 593 605

621 626

Plates 2.1 2.2 3.1 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 7.1 8.1 8.2 9.1 9.2 10.1 12.1 12.2 13.1 13.2 14.1 14.2 15.1 15.2 16.1 16.2 16.3 16.4 18.1 18.2 19.1

Changes in the Wardie Ice Shelf, Antarctica Forest fires in the Amazon Damage due to acid precipitation on the ‘Nunnery’, part of the Mayan complex at Uxmal, Mexico The lower part of the 1992–3 lava flows on Mount Etna The outskirts of the town of Zafferana Etnae, in the front line of the lava flow Rainfall-triggered soil landslides in a part of New Zealand that has been deforested within the last 100 years Destruction in the suburb of Abbotsford, caused by the block slide of 8 August 1979 House raising against flooding in Lismore, NSW, Australia A developed coast: Waikiki, Honolulu Managed realignment of an estuarine shoreline: Tollesbury Fleet, Blackwater estuary, Essex, England Flooding of Flixton Road, Carrington, Greater Manchester, in December 1991 The aggraded, embanked channel of the Rio Guadelmedina at Malaga, Spain Water supply during a mains failure in the Headingley district of Leeds, 1991 Modern centre-pivot irrigation system, southern Spain Traditional irrigated agriculture along the Zayandel River in Iran The first stages in a complex fuelwood supply chain in Pakistan A ridge-top village in northern Yemen Deforestation in northern Honduras, 1996 Deforested hillsides surround a new hill station, Khasauli, Himachal Pradesh A habitat fragment—a small wood in an agricultural landscape An Indian forest officer making an arrest for illegal cutting of timber, 1920 Cannock Chase Country Park, Staffordshire, England Landscapes of the south west New Zealand World Heritage area, South Island, New Zealand Kata Tjuta in Uluru National Park, Northern Territory, Australia Agricultural landscapes of the Yorkshire Dales A ‘packaged, themed experience’ at Shantytown, near Greymouth, New Zealand The shire horse centre near Plymouth, Devon Diversifying the farm business into alternative (non-agricultural) enterprises

28 30 47 72 72 85 86 100 110 118 128 129 141 173 176 189 191 204 205 227 233 241 242 242 243 266 267 280

PLATES 19.2 20.1 20.2 21.1 21.2 22.1 22.2 23.1 23.2 24.1 24.2 24.3 28.1 28.2 29.1 29.2 30.1 30.2 31.1 31.2 32.1 32.2 33.1 33.2 34.1 34.2 35.1 35.2 36.1 36.2 37.1 37.2 38.1 38.2 42.1 42.2 43.1 43.2

Speciality food products in Britain: farmhouse cheeses Tablas de Daimiel Wicken Fen New retail site on the edge of Lancaster and Morecambe Allotments in the urban fringe of Lancaster The Scottish Conference and Exhibition Centre, built on derelict land in Glasgow Festival Park, Stoke-on-Trent Torremolinos: before development as a tourist destination Torremolinos: after development as a tourist destination Inter-war speculative semi-attached suburbia conserved: Hall Green, Birmingham The market square in Bamberg, Germany Pedestrianisation of the main street in Lódz, Poland Tower block demolition, Clapton Park Estate, Hackney, London The Holly Street Estate, Hackney, London The McDonald’s Farm squatter camp in Soweto, South Africa The modern equivalent of ‘bread and circuses’? The proliferation of satellite television in a deprived council estate in Glasgow An ethnic area: New York’s Chinatown A rescue mission in Vancouver’s skid row Queen’s Medical Centre and University Hospital, Nottingham A suburban general practitioner’s surgery, Nottingham Media images of crime Reclaiming the streets A large modern food store in Morecambe A typical suburban ‘retail area’ in Cardiff Traffic congestion in central Glasgow Metrolink light rail rapid transit in central Manchester A typical village general store, Suffolk, England A mobile bank, County Clare, Ireland Catherine Cookson country: South Tyneside’s attempt to associate itself with a popular local author Gateshead’s ‘Angel of the North’ Housing in the process of various stages of consolidation, Caracas A thriving furniture workshop in the Four-à-Chaud low-income community, Castries, St Lucia Home-based ‘sari-sari’ store, Boracay, the Philippines Small-scale shoe factory in a residential neighbourhood of León, Mexico Dorothy Perkins and Burton’s stores: who are their targeted customers and where do they live? A large out-of-town Asda store: how does Asda locate optimally? Global positioning systems in the field A global positioning system receiver

xi 284 295 297 305 305 312 316 322 322 336 337 341 391 394 402 410 416 419 431 431 444 446 452 454 466 469 475 475 487 488 502 505 511 512 585 588 593 594

Figures 1.1 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 2.6 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 5.1 5.2 5.3

A protocol for applied geographical analysis Trend line of carbon dioxide concentrations over the past 300 years Simplified diagram showing the mean annual radiative balance of the atmosphere Estimates of the globally and annually averaged anthropogenic radiative forcing due to changes in concentrations of greenhouse gases and aerosols from a pre-industrial base to 1992 Changes in global average surface air temperature over land and sea (1851–1996) relative to the averaging period 1961–90 An envelope enclosing the results of nine ocean-atmosphere coupled models simulating present mean latitudinal surface temperature conditions expressed as departures from observed values for December to February Estimated carbon dioxide emissions into the atmosphere The formation of the major components of acid rain in the troposphere The major reservoirs and fluxes in the global biogeochemical cycle of sulphur and nitrogen The processes involved in the formation and deposition of acid pollution Areas currently experiencing problems due to acid precipitation and areas likely to develop problems in the future A classification of extreme weather and weather-related events Maps of the cyclone hazard in the South China Sea area Differences in cyclone frequency in the West Indies grid region for four periods during 1871–1995 Ten-year running means of cyclone frequency for selected 5°×5° squares in the Caribbean, 1871–1995, and the entire West Indies grid region Changes in cyclone frequency for the Lesser Antilles and its island sub-groups, 1650–1995 Zonation of cyclone damage resulting from Hurricane Hattie in Belize in 1961 and Hurricanes David and Frederic in Dominica in 1979 Active volcanoes with high disaster potential chosen for intensive monitoring under the auspices of the International Decade for Natural Disaster Reduction Hypotheses of the theoretical spatial distribution of casualties in earthquake disasters Volcanic hazards in the circum-Vesuvian area of southern Italy

11 22 22 23 25 27 31 37 38 39 41 52 55 56 57 58 60 68 69 71

FIGURES 5.4 5.5 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 8.1 8.2 8.3 8.4 8.5 9.1 9.2 9.3 10.1 10.2 10.3 11.1 11.2 11.3 11.4 11.5 12.1 12.2 12.3 12.4 12.5 12.6 12.7 13.1

Distribution of earthquake-monitoring instruments on the San Andreas Fault in the Parkfield area of California Comparison between Kates’ and Pijawka’s model of the stages of recovery after disaster and Hogg’s application of this schema in the Fruili region, Italy Stability factors classified by function Movement rates preceding the Abbotsford landslide of 8 August 1979 Tasmania hazard zonation scheme Landslide-triggering threshold based on daily rainfall and antecedent soil moisture, Wellington City, 1974 Increasing flooding in Venice, 1926–93 The relationship between drainage basin area and extreme flood discharge Alternative flood alleviation strategies Flooding and flood hazard solutions for the River Irwell Flooding along the River Oder in Eastern Europe, 1997 The ‘Bruun Rule’ Plan and profile configurations of the six major beach states observed on the Australian coast Variations in coastal cell structures and boundary positions with varying wave approach, Magilligan Point, Northern Ireland Beach replenishment at Bournemouth Location of Tollesbury Fleet managed retreat site The decline in smoke, sulphur dioxide and lead in the air in Greater Manchester and the fall in the death rate due to bronchitis Sulphur dioxide levels in Chongqing and Sheffield Schematic cross-section through a buried karst plain such as that underlying part of Kuala Lumpur Stylised operation of the water industry Graphical representation of output from an area meter that measures the flow of water to a small area having a mix of industry and domestic users Challenges to the water manager Sequence of occurrence and perception of severe water pollution problems in Europe Effects of an organic effluent on the quality and ecology of a river Examples of rising nitrate concentrations in rivers, groundwaters and lakes Exceedence of critical loads for acidity by deposition of sulphur and nitrogen to freshwater Total number of water pollution incidents in England and Wales, 1981–97; and distribution of substantiated pollution incidents in 1997 classified by type and source Cross-section and plan of a qanat World growth of irrigated land Irrigated area and water use in the USA Water use in Israel Growth of irrigated agriculture on the High Plains of Texas, USA Area and production of irrigated wheat in Saudi Arabia New irrigated areas in the Euphrates basin of Turkey Areas with significant reserves of woody vegetation and woodfuel supply chains to main cities in northern Yemen

xiii

74 78 85 87 90 92 96 98 99 101 105 111 112 113 116 119 125 126 132 137 146 149 153 156 157 161 165 175 176 178 178 180 181 182 192

xiv 15.1 15.2 15.3

FIGURES

A hierarchy of processes determining species diversity The relationship between local populations and metapopulation Immigration and extinction rates determine the equilibrium number of species on an island 15.4 Indices of spatial structure in landscape ecology 15.5 Densities of larvae of the larch bud moth on larch in Switzerland 17.1 EIA as a systemic process 18.1 The recreation opportunities spectrum 18.2 Competing land uses in North Yorkshire Moors National Park 18.3 New landscapes, Murton Grange, North Yorkshire Moors National Park 19.1 Off-farm OGAs in selected regions of Western Europe 19.2 Regional and county speciality food groups in England 20.1 Latitudinal distribution of natural freshwater wetlands 20.2 Percentage of wetland area lost in the USA between the 1780s and 1980s 21.1 Land values around a city and the effect of urban expansion on land values 21.2 Urban edge land uses, Lancaster 22.1 Derelict land in England in 1993, by type of dereliction and by county 22.2 The regional distribution of derelict and vacant land in Scotland, 1990 22.3 New developments in Birmingham Heartlands 23.1 Growth and decline of a tourist destination 24.1 Little Germany conservation area, Bradford 24.2 Key conserved buildings in Zanzibar 25.1 Net within-Britain migration, 1990–1, by district types 26.1 The Zaire-Angola boundary in the Zaire River, 1960 and 1977 26.2 Some geographical causes of international stress along state boundaries 26.3 The France-UK continental shelf boundary 26.4 The Canada-US maritime boundary in the Gulf of Maine 26.5 The Chad-Libya boundary 26.6 The Argentine-Chile boundary in the southern Andes 26.7 The China-India boundary dispute 26.8 The Saudi Arabia-Yemen boundary dispute 26.9 The Greece-Turkey dispute in the Aegean Sea 26.10 The Cambodia-Thailand seabed dispute in the Gulf of Thailand 27.1 Cvijic’s five ethnographic maps of the Macedonia area 27.2 The ethnic map of Bosnia-Herzegovina before c. 1990 27.3 The February 1993 Vance-Owen plan for dividing Bosnia-Herzegovina 27.4 The ethnic map of Bosnia-Herzegovina in October 1995 27.5 The changed ethnic map of Bosnia-Herzegovina and the division after the Dayton Accord 27.6 Redistricting Sheffield 27.7 Counties and Congressional Districts in Mississippi, 1992 29.1 The anatomy of multiple deprivation 29.2 Life expectancy at birth, 1990 29.3 Social well-being in the USA 29.4 Infant mortality in Detroit 29.5 Variations in social well-being in Tampa 29.6 The distribution of multiple deprivation in Glasgow, 1991

226 226 227 227 230 248 265 268 269 281 283 289 291 302 304 314 315 317 322 335 339 354 362 362 365 366 367 368 369 369 370 371 379 380 381 382 383 385 387 401 403 406 408 409 410

FIGURES 30.1 31.1 31.2 31.3 31.4 32.1 32.2 32.3 33.1 33.2 33.3 33.4 33.5 33.6 33.7 34.1 34.2 34.3 35.1 35.2 35.3 37.1 37.2 37.3 37.4 39.1 39.2 40.1 40.2 40.3 40.4 40.5 40.6 40.7 41.1 41.2 41.3 41.4 41.5 41.6 41.7

Johannesburg, 1985: segregated city Life expectancy at birth for males in the district health authorities of England, 1992–4 Associations between life expectancy at birth and deprivation category for the District Health Authorities of England Location map of the Bronx, New York City AIDS and ghetto relocation in the Bronx, New York City The concentration of crime and the links with place Trends in crime in England and Wales Trends in reporting and recording crime in England and Wales, 1981–95 Retail catchment areas Relationships between shopping trip purpose and type of retail destination Estimating sales in a large food store using market area analytical methods Market penetration rates and trade draw pattern for a large food store Estimating sales in a new large food store using a spatial interaction model The ‘downward spiral’ model of environmental impact Methodology for assessing the impacts of a new large food store on town centre vitality and viability Stages in the urban transportation planning process The San Francisco Bay Area Rapid Transit system The Manchester Metrolink light rail system Accessibility to motorable roads, Kwara state, Nigeria Composite index of public transport service and accessibility, Wales, 1979 Accessibility at the local scale, by village, using time-space methods, North Powys, Wales A typology of low-income housing in third world cities Percentage of homes obtaining water from a public standpipe, Bridgetown, Barbados Scores on Factor I, a measure of housing disamenity, Bridgetown, Barbados Main areas of landslides in Caracas, 1974–9, and principal barrio areas Projected normal deaths, AIDS deaths and future HIV infections in an African country, 1985–2005 Typical distribution of AIDS cases by age cohort and gender for an east or southern African country Mapping loss of tropical rain forest in Madagascar Land cover change in Central Asia Data capture and data analysis: using GIS and remote sensing to understand environmental change Spectral signatures Array of buoys used to monitor sea temperatures across the Pacific Ocean Integration and analysis of countryside survey data Modelling the impact of environmental change in the Flow Country Perth city services route map Journalistic cartography Powerpoint-prepared presentation graphics Desktop mapping via Excel Teaching map design Detail from Encarta 97 Three-dimensional computer mapping

xv 417 429 430 432 433 438 440 440 451 454 455 456 456 457 458 463 465 470 478 480 481 497 499 499 504 529 533 540 541 542 543 546 548 551 559 560 561 562 564 567 568

xvi 41.8 41.9 41.10 41.11 42.1 42.2 42.3 42.4 42.5 42.6 42.7 42.8 43.1 43.2 43.3 43.4 44.1 44.2 44.3 44.4 44.5 44.6

FIGURES Cartography on the Internet: a static location map Cartography on the Internet: raster and vector maps Map of Florida selected from ESRI’s Map Cafe Digimap search screen Location of ‘struggling’ residents of Leeds Market penetration of Kwik Save Location of ‘prosperous’ residents of Leeds Market penetration of Sainsbury Catchment area of a potential new supermarket for Kwik Save using GIS Observed versus predicted flows for Morley supermarket Market penetration of Asda superstores Catchment area of the Kwik Save supermarket based on model predictions A plot of a position measurement over time with selective availability in action Good and bad satellite geometry GPS landscape feature map of Snowdonia, North Wales Digital elevation model of Snowdonia, North Wales The trade-off between model complexity and fidelity to real-world representation Cardiff’s inner area The sequence of GIS-based operations in the modelling of house prices Council tax valuations: positive and negative differences Different data models of Norwich, UK The density gradients of four different facets to urban form, Norwich, UK

569 571 572 572 583 584 584 585 586 586 587 588 597 597 599 600 608 610 611 612 615 616

Boxes 2.1 2.2 2.3 3.1 3.2 4.1 4.2 5.1 5.2 6.1 6.2 7.1 7.2 7.3 8.1 9.1 9.2 10.1 10.2 11.1 11.2 12.1 12.2 13.1 13.2 14.1 14.2 15.1 15.2 16.1 16.2 16.3

Changing attitudes towards global warming Carbon dioxide released from forest fires Policies for reducing carbon dioxide The reconstruction of lake pH using diatom analysis Forest damage in Europe The zoning of cyclone damage The impacts of Hurricane Gilbert Volcanic hazards at Mount Vesuvius Earthquake monitoring at Parkfield, California The East Abbotsford landslide disaster Methods for regional hazard assessment Increased coastal flood hazard in Venice, Italy House raising as a flood alleviation strategy The Czech, Polish and German floods in 1997 Coastal classification and coastal erosion Air pollution by smoke and sulphur dioxide: Sheffield, UK, in the 1950s and 1960s; and Chongqing, China, in the 1980s and 1990s Subsidence beneath Kuala Lumpur, Malayasia Managing risk at Cod Beck Reservoir To meter or not to meter A conceptual model of water pollution occurrence and control Details of the Nitrate-Sensitive Area Scheme in England The Bureau of Reclamation and the American West Groundwater mining and food security in Saudi Arabia The natural resource crisis in Yemen Political change, desertification and population dynamics in Central Asia Fire! Fire! No acidification in Asia’s mountains Determining the species status of the green frog Social forestry in the Western Ghats of India World systems of landscape designation Cannock Chase Country Park, Staffordshire, England Yorkshire Dales National Park UK

26 31 32 45 46 60 61 71 74 86 90 96 100 104 110 126 132 143 147 153 167 177 181 192 194 203 213 228 232 237 241 243

xviii 17.1 17.2 17.3 18.1 18.2 18.3 19.1 19.2 19.3 20.1 20.2 20.3 20.4 20.5 21.1 21.2 21.3 21.4 22.1 22.2 23.1 23.2 23.3 23.4 24.1 24.2 24.3 25.1 25.2 25.3 25.4 26.1 26.2 26.3 26.4 27.1 27.2 28.1 28.2 29.1 29.2 30.1 30.2 31.1 31.2 32.1 32.2

BOXES Environmental impact assessment in Brazil EIA—Differences in attitude and practice: Norway and Estonia compared The EU and EIA initiatives Approaches to planning for leisure The recreation opportunities spectrum Multi-authority collaboration in the Dartmoor Area Tourism Initiative Agri-environmental programmes in Switzerland Other gainful activities in France Speciality food products in England A classification of wetland habitats Views of wetlands: past and present The Ramsar Convention Conversion of natural floodplain to agricultural land, northern Nigeria An institutional framework recommended for wetland conservation in Zimbabwe Los Angeles London Lancaster Lagos Dereliction and reclamation in northeast France Birmingham Heartlands The rise and decline of a resort: Torremolinos, Spain Perspectives on tourism Green viruses in the Caribbean Ecotourism in Belize Industrial heritage problems: Little Germany, Bradford, UK Defining ‘character’ as applied to UK conservation areas Colonial heritage problems in Stone Town, Zanzibar Urbanisation and rural-urban migration in India ‘Guest workers’ in Western Europe Suburbanisation and central city decline in the USA Counterurbanisation and rural change in the UK France-UK continental shelf Canada-USA Gulf of Maine maritime boundary Chad-Libya boundary in the Sahara Argentina-Chile boundary in the southern Andes Redistricting Sheffield Redistricting Mississippi The Holly Street Estate, Hackney, London Contract de ville in Toulouse The Chheetpur squatter settlement in Allahabad, India Experiences of poverty Financial exclusion, discrimination and segregation The two worlds of Los Angeles Spatial patterns of longevity and deprivation in England Social disintegration and the geography of AIDS in the Bronx, New York Case study: domestic burglary The Garths Crime Reduction Scheme

251 252 254 260 265 266 278 280 283 288 290 292 293 294 302 304 305 307 311 317 322 325 328 330 334 337 339 350 351 353 354 365 366 367 368 385 386 393 396 402 408 421 422 429 433 441 446

BOXES 32.3 33.1 33.2 34.1 34.2 34.3 34.4 35.1 35.2 35.3 35.4 36.1 36.2 37.1 37.2 38.1 38.2 39.1 39.2 39.3 39.4 39.5 40.1 41.1 41.2 41.3 42.1 42.2 43.1 43.2 43.3 44.1 44.2

Spatial paradoxes in crime and fear of crime Relationships between store size, type of consumer and shopping travel Merry Hill regional shopping centre and its impacts San Francisco: reinvestment in urban rail to combat road congestion Harare: new initiatives in public passenger transport Singapore: achieving a compromise between public and private urban travel Manchester: the introduction of light rail transit to a British conurbation The measurement of accessibility in the developing world Local-scale access demands in rural Wales The time-space approach to accessibility at the local level Rural mobility in Northern Ireland Carlisle: dealing with peripherality Malaga: dealing with the citizenry The assessment of housing conditions The critical assessment of housing policies and housing issues Aspects of the gender division of labour in a Nairobi shanty town Street traders in Mexico City Life expectancy and HIV/AIDS The HIV/AIDS epidemic in Africa The HIV/AIDS epidemic in Asia World Bank: household impact of adult death Orphans and the elderly in the Ukraine Issues of data quality Electronic atlas: the Microsoft Encarta 97 Internet (global): Florida on-line Digimap Finding customers for a large cinema chain Estimating new store turnovers Field mapping: geomorphological interpretation with GPS Model verification: using GPS to assess data quality of digital elevation models Georeferencing for resource assessment: the role of GPS in community forest resource mapping Using GIS to model property valuations Modelling in a GIS environment

xix 447 452 459 465 468 468 470 478 480 481 482 492 492 499 505 517 520 530 530 531 531 535 552 567 572 572 581 589 599 600 601 613 617

Tables 1.1 Cycles of pure and applied geography 2.1 Estimated impact of a 1-metre rise in sea level 2.2 Trends in world crop production along with modelled results of the impact of climate change on productivity 3.1 Emissions of sulphurous gases for selected countries 3.2 Emissions of nitrous gases for selected countries 3.3 Examples of changes in the pH of lake waters that have occurred since c. 1840 in the UK, Europe and North America 4.1 Classification of tropical cyclones with hurricane classes based on the Saffir-Simpson damage potential scale 4.2 Percentages of the North Atlantic/Caribbean, east Pacific and Australian cyclone areas showing increases, decreases or no change in cyclone activity 4.3 Role of vegetation cover in hurricane effects on reef islands in Belize during Hurricane Hattie in 1961 4.4 Responses to tropical cyclone hazards in relation to stage of development of a territory 6.1 Landslide classification 6.2 The Montrose hazard zonation scheme 7.1 The twenty-four most severe floods worldwide 7.2 The potential flood damage to different land uses in the River Irwell floodplain 7.3 Economic appraisal of alternative flood alleviation standards for the River Irwell 8.1 Average rates of surface elevation change, 1995–7, outside and inside the managed retreat site at Tollesbury Fleet, Blackwater estuary, Essex, UK 10.1 Water management priorities, 1997 10.2 Examples of the required standards of potable waters 10.3 Questions posed by the prescribed standards and values for drinking water 10.4 The probable components of ‘K’ to be employed in periodic review 3 in 1999 10.5 Components and possible amplitudes of true and resource demand 11.1 Major water quality issues excluding ecological quality 11.2 The percentage contribution of individual fractions to nutrient fluxes in selected UK drainage basins 11.3 Principal sources of salinity caused by human activity 11.4 Concentrations of selected metals in roof, street and stormwater runoff in the Karlsruhe/Waldstadt region of Germany

8 29 30 42 43 44 54 59 61 62 84 91 97 102 103 120 141 144 145 145 146 155 158 159 162

TABLES 11.5 Pesticides on list I (Black List) of the EC Dangerous Substances Directive 11.6 Percentage length of rivers in different chemical quality classes in England and Wales and regions, 1994–6 11.7 Definition of pollution incident categories 11.8 Recent legislation affecting water policy in England and Wales 12.1 World irrigation by country, 1995 13.1 Household fuel use for the northern governorates of Yemen, 1998 13.2 Dryland areas in the Central Asian countries and southern Russia republics 13.3 Areas of the main types of environmental degradation in some parts of Central Asia 13.4 Predicted changes in soil moisture in drylands under a 2×CO2 scenario from three general circulation models 14.1 Main deforestation fronts 15.1 The values of biological diversity 17.1 Environmental impact assessment 18.1 The rural tourism planning and management process 18.2 Problems and solutions for recreation planning in the UK 18.3 Access mechanisms and ideology 18.4 Potential income streams from recreational facilities 19.1 Secondary consequences of productivist agriculture 19.2 Characteristics of the post-productivist transition 20.1 A categorisation of the value of wetlands 20.2 Water transferred from the Tagus-Segura and received in the Tablas de Daimiel National Park 22.1 Derelict land by type in England, April 1993 23.1 Characteristics of sustainable tourism and approaches to their achievement 23.2 Aims and conflicts of actors/interest groups 23.3 Theoretical characteristics of mass package tourism and ecotourism 23.4 Examples of good tourism practice in New Zealand 23.5 Types of ecotourist 25.1 Urban population growth in India, 1961–91 25.2 Population change in selected US cities, 1960–90 27.1 Redistricting the lower house of Washington’s State legislature 29.1 The extent of absolute poverty in selected countries 29.2 Most deprived local authority districts in Britain, 1991 29.3 Most affluent local authority districts in Britain, 1991 30.1 Measures of segregation: indices of dissimilarity in British cities, 1991 30.2 Measures of segregation: indices of dissimilarity in US cities, 1970–90 31.1 Regression results for tests of the relationship between HIV-related behaviour and population relocation in the health areas of the Bronx 32.1 Crime prevention by geography 34.1 Private car and bus transport in major cities of the developing world 34.2 Urban tramway, light rail, metro and suburban rail systems 35.1 Travel mode and frequency by car ownership: shopping for groceries and clothing, County Londonderry, Northern Ireland, 1988 35.2 Estimated trip rates, County Londonderry, Northern Ireland, 1988 38.1 Stereotypical characteristics of formal and informal employment 38.2 Percentage of production that is informal in selected developing countries

xxi 163 164 166 167 177 193 194 194 196 202 223 247 259 263 264 266 275 276 290 295 313 324 325 326 329 329 350 353 388 405 407 407 415 415 434 445 467 469 482 483 510 511

xxii

TABLES

38.3 Percentage of male and female labour force in the informal sector in selected developing countries 38.4 Women’s share of the labour force in developing regions, 1970–90 38.5 Economic linkages between the formal and informal sectors of the urban economy 39.1 Global summary of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, December 1997 39.2 Estimated number of adults with HIV/AIDS by region and characteristics, December 1997 40.1 Types of data available as part of NASA’s Earth Observing System 42.1 Sears’ target markets in the late 1980s 42.2 ACORN geodemographic classification 44.1 Some characteristics of satellite imagery and UK census data

515 516 518 528 534 545 579 580 614

Contributors Professor David Alexander, Department of Geosciences, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, MA 01003– 5820, USA. Dr Michael Barke, Division of Geography and Environmental Management, University of Northumbria, Lipman Building, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 8ST, UK. Professor Tony Barnett, School of Development Studies, University of East Anglia, Norwich, NR4 7TJ, UK. Professor Peter Beaumont, Department of Geography, University of Wales, Lampeter, Ceredigion, SA48 7ED, UK. Professor Gerald Blake, Department of Geography, University of Durham, South Road, Durham, DH1 3LE, UK. Professor John Blunden, Faculty of Social Sciences, The Open University, Walton Hall, Milton Keynes, MK7 6AA, UK. Dr Keith Boucher, Department of Geography, Loughborough University, Loughborough, LE11 3TU, UK. Dr Nick Brown, Department of Plant Sciences, University of Oxford, South Parks Road, Oxford, OX1 3RB, UK. Ms Rosemary Burton, School of Geography and Environmental Management, University of the West of England, Coldharbour Lane, Bristol, UK. Dr Bruce Carlisle, Geographical Information Systems Unit, School of Agriculture and Horticulture, De Montford University, Lincoln, LN2 2LG, UK. Professor Tony Champion, Department of Geography, University of Newcastle, Daysh Building, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE1 7RU, UK. Dr Sylvia Chant, Department of Geography and Environment, London School of Economics, Houghton Street, London,WC2A 2AE, UK. Dr Gordon Clark, Department of Geography, University of Lancaster, Bailrigg, Lancaster, LA1 4YB, UK. Dr Graham Clarke, School of Geography, University of Leeds, Leeds, LS2 9JT, UK.

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CONTRIBUTORS

Professor Michael Crozier, Institute of Geography,Victoria University of Wellington, Box 600, Wellington, New Zealand. Dr Norman Davidson, Department of Geography, University of Hull, Cottingham Road, Hull, HU6 7RX, UK. Professor Ian Douglas, School of Geography, Manchester University, Manchester, M13 9PL, UK. Miss Lesley France, 5 Rossway,Whitley Bay, NE26 3EJ, UK. Dr David Green, Department of Geography, University of Aberdeen, Elphinstone Road, Aberdeen, AB24 3UF, UK. Dr Cliff Guy, Department of City and Regional Planning, University of Wales, Colum Drive, Cardiff, CF1 3YN, UK. Professor Martin Haigh, Department of Geography, Oxford Brookes University, Headington, Oxford, OX3 0BP, UK. Dr Roy Haines-Young, Department of Geography, University of Nottingham, University Park, Nottingham, NG7 2RD, UK. Professor David Herbert, Department of Geography, University of Wales, Singleton Park, Swansea, SA2 8PP, UK. Dr Ian Heywood, Centre for Open and Distance Learning, Robert Gordon University, Aberdeen, AB10 1FR, UK. Professor Brian Ilbery, Department of Geography, University of Coventry, Priory Street, Coventry, CV1 5FB, UK. Dr Keith Jacobs, School of the Built Environment, University of Westminster, Marylebone Road, London, NW1 5LS, UK. Professor Ron Johnston, School of Geographical Sciences, University of Bristol, University Road, Bristol, BS8 1SS, UK. Dr Gavin Jordan, Department of Agriculture and Forestry, Newton Rigg College, University of Central Lancashire, Penrith, CA11 0AH, UK. Mr Stephen King, Department of Geography, University of Aberdeen, Elphinstone Road, Aberdeen, AB24 3UF, UK. Dr Philip Kivell, Department of Geography, University of Keele, Keele, Staffordshire, ST5 5BG, UK. Dr Peter Larkham, School of Planning, University of Central England, Perry Barr, Birmingham, B42 2SU, UK. Professor Paul Longley, School of Geographical Sciences, University of Bristol, University Road, Bristol, BS8 1SS, UK. Dr Elena Lopez-Gunn, Department of Environmental Sciences, University of Hertfordshire, College Lane, Hatfield, AL10 9AB, UK. Dr A.M.Mannion, Department of Geography, University of Reading, Whiteknights, Reading, RG6 6AB, UK.

CONTRIBUTORS

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Professor Adrian McDonald, School of Geography, University of Leeds, Leeds, LS2 9JT, UK. Professor Andrew Millington, Department of Geography, University of Leicester, Leicester, LE1 7RH, UK. Dr Stephen Nutley, Department of Environmental Studies, University of Ulster, Coleraine, BT52 1SA, UK. Professor Michael Pacione, Department of Geography, University of Strathclyde, 50 Richmond Street, Glasgow, G1 1XH, UK. Professor Edmund Penning-Rowsell, Flood Hazard Research Centre, Middlesex University, Queensway, Enfield, EN3 4SF, UK. Professor David Phillips, Department of Geography, Nottingham University, University Park, Nottingham, NG7 2RD, UK. Professor Rob Potter, Department of Geography, Royal Holloway, University of London, Egham, Surrey, TW20 0EX, UK. Professor Guy Robinson, School of Geography, University of Kingston, Penrhyn Road, Kingston upon Thames, KT1 2EE, UK. Dr Matthew Smallman-Raynor, Department of Geography, Nottingham University, University Park, Nottingham, NG7 2RD, UK. Dr Graham Smith, Department of Environmental and Geographical Sciences, Manchester Metropolitan University, Chester Street, Manchester, M1 5GD, UK. Dr Tom Spencer, Cambridge Coastal Research Unit, Department of Geography, Cambridge University, Downing Place, Cambridge, CB2 3EN, UK. Dr Brian Turton, Department of Geography, University of Keele, Keele, Staffordshire, ST5 5BG, UK. Professor Max Wade, Department of Environmental Sciences, University of Hertfordshire, College Lane, Hatfield, AL10 9AB, UK. Dr Rory Walsh, Department of Geography, University of Wales, Singleton Park, Swansea, SA2 8PP, UK. Professor Bruce Webb, School of Geography and Archaeology, University of Exeter, Rennes Drive, Exeter, EX4 4RJ, UK.

Preface Questions on the usefulness of geographical research and the relationship between theory and practice are central to debate over the place and value of geography as an academic discipline for the third millennium. Such issues constitute the core of applied geography—which may be defined as the application of geographic knowledge and skills to the resolution of social, economic and environmental problems. It is important at the outset to identify the place of applied geography within the discipline as a whole. Rather than being considered as a sub-area of geography (akin to economic, social or historical geography), applied geography refers to an approach that cross-cuts artificial disciplinary boundaries to involve problem-oriented research in both human and physical geography. The relevance and value of applied geographical research has never been more apparent, given the plethora of problem situations that confront modern societies, ranging from extreme natural events (such as floods, drought and earthquakes) through environmental concerns (such as deforestation, disease and desertification) to human issues (such as crime, poverty and unemployment). An applied geographical approach has the potential to illuminate the nature and causes of such problems and inform the formulation of appropriate responses. This book offers a comprehensive introduction to the pr inciples and practice of applied geography. It includes coverage of applied

geographical research across the traditional boundary between human and physical geography, as well as work in the important fields of environmental geography and computer-based spatial analysis. The book is organised into four main parts. As in all classificatory systems, this structure is employed to impose a degree of order on diversity in the interests of elucidation. This does not, however, imply a demarcation of the themes and issues discussed into discrete ‘subfields’ of applied geography. To do so would be to ignore the complexity of real-world problems, evident in the role of human agency in landscape modification (as in deforestation, desertification and flooding), or conversely, the impact of earthquakes on cities or of coastal erosion on transport routes. Regrettably, it may be true that a minority of human geographers read papers on physical geography (and vice versa), and Stoddart (1987: p. 320) was probably correct to suggest that many geographers ‘have abandoned the possibility of communicating with colleagues working not only in the same titular discipline but also in the same department. The human geographers think their physical colleagues philosophically naïve; the physical geog raphers think the human geographers lacking in rigour.’ While it would be absurd to represent applied geography as a Rosetta stone for a divided discipline, one of the strengths of the applied geographical approach is that it rejects ar tificial academic boundar ies and

PREFACE highlights linkages between different geographical phenomena. The fact that some of the chapters in this book might have been accommodated comfortably within more than a single section merely underlines the interrelationship between many of the research foci currently under investigation by applied geographers. The opening chapter of the book provides an introduction to the principles and practice of applied geography and discusses the definition and development of the approach. Consideration is given to the relationship between ‘pure’ and ‘applied’ research, and the particular concept of ‘useful knowledge’ is introduced. Different approaches to the conduct of applied geography are examined and a general protocol proposed. The question of the value of applied geography for contemporary societies is also addressed. The main part of the book comprises four sections, dealing with Natural and environmental hazards (eight chapters), Environmental c hange and management (fifteen chapters), Challenges of the human environment (fifteen chapters) and Techniques of spatial analysis (five chapters). Each chapter

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provides a concise authoritative introduction to the field of study, identifies the major causes and consequences of the problem under investigation, presents case study evidence from an international range of settings to illustrate the impacts of the problem, and offers a prospective view for applied geographical research in the context of the particular problem area. Each essay is illustrated with relevant maps, diagrams and photographs and is complemented by a list of references and guide to further reading. The collection of essays in the book illustrates the wealth of research undertaken by applied geog raphers and provides a comprehensive introduction to the principles and practice of a dynamic and increasingly relevant approach to the study of geography.

REFERENCE

Stoddart, D. (1987) To claim the high ground: geography for the end of the century, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 12, 327–36.

Acknowledgements Preparation of this collection of essays dealing with a range of issues that span the discipline of geography was both a challenging and a rewarding experience. The challenge of bringing together and coordinating the efforts of over forty leading authorities working in a wide variety of fields was facilitated by a shared belief in the value of an applied or problem-or iented approach to geographical investigation. My personal academic reward came with the intellectual stimulation provided by exposure to the wealth of knowledge generated by this particular collective of applied geographers. The end result is a book that illuminates the power of an applied geographical approach address many of the social, economic and environmental

problems that confront modern societies as they enter the third millennium.The book represents a benchmark of the state of applied geography as well as a signpost and catalyst for future work. Each chapter was written by an acknowledged authority in the field, and I should like to take this opportunity to express my appreciation of the timely and efficient manner in which they each responded to my various editorial requests, As always, the greatest debt is owed to my family for their forbearance dur ing the preparation of this book—to my wife Christine for her support throughout the course of the project, to to my son Michael for his computing skills, and to my daughter Emma for helping with the index.

Introduction

1 In pursuit of useful knowledge: the principles and practice of applied geography Michael Pacione

THE DEFINITION OF APPLIED GEOGRAPHY

An indication of the nature and content of applied geography may be gained by examining a selection of available definitions of the approach. One of the earliest statements on applied geography was offered by A.J.Herbertson in 1899 in a lecture to the Council of the Manchester Geographical Society. In this he defined applied geography as ‘a special way of looking at geography, a limitation and a specialisation of the study of it from one point of view. For the business man this point of view is an economic one, for the medical man a climatic and demographic one, for the missionary an ethic and ethical one’ (p. 1). While the second part of this definition presents a somewhat restricted view of the context of applied geography even at the end of the nineteenth century, the opening sentence has proved to be a prescient statement that, as we shall see, remains relevant today. More recent attempts to define applied geography are also instructive as far as they reflect a particular view of the subject. In reviewing several definitions of applied geography, Hornbeck (1989: p. 15) identified two common factors in that applied geography ‘takes place outside the university, and it deals with real world problems’. While the latter observation is apposite, the exclusion of academic research in applied geography reveals an excessively nar row

perspective that, in part, reflects the situation in North America, where many applied geographers employ their skills beyond the walls of academia. The extramural focus in applied geographical work is also central to Hart’s (1989: p. 15) definition, which saw applied geography as ‘the synthesis of existing geographic knowledge and principles to serve the specific needs of a particular client, usually a business or a government agency’. The suggestion of uncritical ‘service to a specific client, whether business or public agency’ (p. 17) implicit in this definition ignores the volume of critical analysis undertaken by academic applied geographers. In a more broadly based statement, Sant (1982: p. 1) viewed applied geography as the use of geographic knowledge as an aid to reaching decisions over use of the world’s resources. More specifically, Frazier (1982: p. 17) considered that applied geography ‘deals with the normative question, the way things should be, a bold but necessary position in dealing with real world problem resolution. In the process, the geographer combines the world of opinion with the world of decision.’ This latter perspective is closer to the definition of applied geography favoured here. In this book, we employ a definition of applied geography that reflects the central importance of normative goals and that acknowledges the involvement of both academic and non-academic applied geographers in pursuit of these goals. Accordingly, applied geography may be defined as

4

INTRODUCTION

the application of geographic knowledge and skills to the resolution of social, economic and environmental problems. The question of how best to attain this goal will be addressed later in the discussion. Here it is appropriate to conclude these introductory comments by examining the academic niche for applied geography, and in particular the question of whether applied geography constitutes a subfield of geography or an approach to the subject. These issues represent more than a simple question of semantics. In essence, a sub-field of a discipline is expected to generate its own body of theory and methodology, whereas an approach has its rationale founded on a particular philosophy (such as relevance or social usefulness) and can employ appropriate theory, concepts and methodology from across the discipline and elsewhere. Designating the area a sub-field of geography invites criticism of applied geography as lacking a coherent structure and character ised by a pragmatic approach. Johnston (1994: p. 21), for example, concluded that ‘there is no central theoretical core or corpus of techniques; rather the sub-field has been characterised by ad hoc approaches to the problems posed, drawing on the perceived relevant skills and information’. This critique, which could be levelled at many subfields of geography, is based on a misunderstanding of the appropriate academic niche for applied geography. Identification of a theoretical core or a unified concept (such as the hydrological cycle in hydrology or the energy budget in climatology) is necessary only for a subject area that seeks to establish itself as a distinct sub-field or branch of a discipline. Applied geography does not harbour such parochial ambition and is best viewed as an approach that can bring together researchers from across the range of sub-fields in geography, either in the prosecution of a particular piece of research or in terms of an enduring commitment to the ethos of the approach. For applied geography, the unifying concept is not a specific model or theory but the fundamental philosophy of relevance or usefulness to society. This ‘core’, which extends beyond the confines of any single sub-field, represents a powerful and clearly articulated

rationale. Furthermore, applied geographers would contend that the identification and application of relevant theory, concepts and techniques both from within geography and across disciplinary boundaries is a positive strength, not a weakness, of the applied geography approach. Definitions and critiques that seek to establish applied geography as a branch or sub-field of geography are misplaced. As Herbertson indicated a century ago, applied geography is best seen not as a sub-field but as an approach that can be applied across all branches of geography.

THE CONCEPT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE

The concept of useful knowledge will no doubt upset a number of practising geographers. Those who do not see themselves as applied geographers may interpret the subtitle of this book— ‘an introduction to useful research in physical, environmental and human geography’ —as indicating a corollary in the shape of geographical research that is less useful or even useless. This would be a misinterpretation. The subtitle for the book was selected to express the fundamental ethos of applied geography rather than to annoy ‘non-applied’ geographers. The choice of subtitle represents a deliberate decision to get off the fence and make explicit the view that some kinds of research are more useful than others. This is not the same as saying that some geographical research is better than other work—all knowledge is useful—but some kinds of research and knowledge are more useful than other kinds in terms of their ability to interpret and offer solutions to problems in contemporary physical and human environments. We can illustrate this point by comparing the contents of the present volume on applied geography with two other geographical agendas, separated by a timespan of fifty years. The first of these is the ‘mission statement’ delivered by the eminent historical geographer H.C.Darby in his inaugural lecture in the University of Liverpool. In Darby’s (1946) view, his goal as a teacher of geography was

IN PURSUIT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE to help students to learn to read their morning newspapers with g reater intelligence and understanding, and to take their evening walks or their Sunday dr ives with greater interest, appreciation and pleasure. While few modern applied geographers would regard this as an adequate definition of their work, there is a degree of overlap between Darby’s agenda and the goals of applied geography in that, from a realist standpoint, Darby’s activities could be regarded as emancipatory and an example of critical science. The second example is taken from a more recent ‘call for papers’ issued in May 1997 on behalf of the Social and Cultural and the Population Geography research groups of the Royal Geographical Society/Institute of British Geographers. In preparation for a session at the annual conference, offer s of paper s were requested on the theme of ‘the body’. Additional guidelines for prospective contributors were as follows: ‘Is the body dead? Has it been ‘done’? This joint session seeks to explore current and future critical, geographical perspectives on ‘The Body’, as a discourse, as a centre for conflict, consensus, rebellion or domination. Participants are encouraged to consider ways in which their own bodies can be used to em-body their presentations. All/any form(s) of (re) ‘presentation’ are welcomed. Clearly, the research topics of interest to participants in this conference session would hold little appeal for many applied geographers. Indeed, some may even be stimulated to recall Stoddard’s (1987) impatience with ‘so-called geographers…who promote as topics worthy of research subjects like geographic influence in the Canadian cinema, or the distribution of fast food outlets in Tel Aviv’ (p. 334). The distinction between the contents of this book on Applied geography: principles and practice and the proposed agenda for the 1998 IBG conference session serves as a useful primer for our subsequent discussions. Those who study the kind of topics identified in the call for conference papers might legitimise their agenda by pointing to the eclectic nature of geography and the value of ‘pure’ research; for these and other geographers, the idea

5

of applied geography or useful research is a chaotic concept that does not fit with the cultural turn in social geography or the postmodern theorising of recent years. We shall return to this question later but, in the meantime, it is useful to make explicit the views that underlie the kind of applied geography represented in this book. We can do this most clearly by comparing the applied geographical approach with an alter native postmoder n perspective. One of the major achievements of postmodern discourse has been the illumination of the importance of difference in society as part of the theoretical shift from an emphasis on economically rooted structures of dominance to cultural ‘other ness’ focused on the social construction of group identities. However, there is a danger that the reification of difference may preclude communal efforts in pursuit of goals such as social justice. A f ailure to address the unavoidable real-life question of ‘whose is the more important difference among differences’ when strategic choices have to be made represents a serious threat to constructing a practical politics of difference. Furthermore, if all viewpoints and expressions of identity are equally valid, how do we evaluate social policy or, for that matter, right from wrong? How do we avoid the segregation, discrimination and marginalisation that the postmodern appeal for recognition of difference seeks to counteract. The failure to address real issues would seem to suggest that the advent of postmodernism in radical scholarship has done little to advance the cause of social justice. Discussion of relevant issues is abstracted into consideration of how particular discourses of power are constructed and reproduced. Responsibility for bringing theory to bear on realworld circumstances is largely abdicated in favour of the intellectually sound but morally bankrupt premise that there is no such thing as reality. As Merrifield and Swyngedouw (1996: p. 11) express it, ‘intriguing though this stuff may be for critical scholars, it is also intrinsically dangerous in its prospective definition of political action. Decoupling social cr itique from its politicaleconomic basis is not helpful for dealing with the

6

INTRODUCTION

shifting realities of (urban) life at the threshold of the new millennium.’ In terms of real-world problems, postmodern thought would condemn us to inaction while we reflect on the nature of the issue. (As we shall see below, a similar critique may be levelled at the Marxist critique of applied geography that was prevalent during the 1970s and 1980s.) The views expressed in the above discussion do not represent an attempt to be prescriptive of all geographical research but are intended to indicate clearly the principles and areas of concern for applied geography. It is a matter of individual conscience whether geographers study topics such as the iconography of landscapes or the optimum location for health centres, but the principle underlying the kind of useful geography espoused by most applied geographers is a commitment to improving existing social, economic and environmental conditions. There can be no compromise—no academic fudge—some geographical research is more useful than other work; this is the focus of applied geography. Of course, there will continue to be divergent views on the content and value of geographical research. This healthy debate raises a number of important questions for the discipline and for applied geography in particular. The concept of ‘useful research’ poses the basic questions of useful for whom? who decides what is useful? and based on what criteria? All of these issues formed a central part of the ‘relevance debate’ of the early 1970s, which we examine later. The related questions of values in research, the goals of different types of science, and the nature of the relationship between pure and applied research are also issues of central importance for applied geography. These are addressed in the following sections.

THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN PURE AND APPLIED RESEARCH

According to Palm and Brazel (1992: p. 342), ‘applied research in any discipline is best understood in contrast with basic, or pure,

research. In geography, basic research aims to develop new theory and methods that help explain the processes through which the spatial organisation of physical or human environments evolves. In contrast, applied research uses existing geographic theory or techniques to understand and solve specific empirical problems.’ While this distinction is useful at a general level, it overplays the notion of a dichotomy between pure and applied geography, which are more correctly seen as two sides of the same coin.There is, in fact, a dialectic relationship between the two. As Frazier (1982: p. 17) points out, ‘applied geography uses the principles and methods of pure geography but is different in that it analyses and evaluates real-world action and planning and seeks to implement and manipulate environmental and spatial realities. In the process, it contributes to, as well as utilises, general geography through the revelation of new relationships.’ The conjuncture between pure and applied research is illustrated clearly in geomorphology, where, for example, attempts to address problems of shoreline management have contributed to theories of beach transpor t; the difficulties of road construction in the Arctic have informed theories of per mafrost behaviour; and problems encountered in tunnelling have aided the development of subsidence theory (Brunsden 1985). Applied research provides the opportunity to use theories and methods in the ultimate proving ground of the real world, as well as enabling researchers to contr ibute to the resolution of real-world problems. More generally, Sant (1982) envisaged theory as essential in applied geography at two levels. First, it provides the framework for asking questions about the substantive relationships embodied in a problem (as, for example, where a model of a hydrological catchment illuminates the potential effects of a proposed flood prevention scheme). Second, social theory provides a normative standard against which current and future social conditions can be judged in terms of defined moral goals (which may address issues such as whether a minimum wage and basic standard of living should be a legal entitlement in advanced capitalist societies).

IN PURSUIT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE There is little mer it in pursuing a false dichotomy between pure and applied research. A more useful distinction is that which recognises the different levels of involvement of researchers at each stage of the research and specifically the greater engagement of applied geographers in the ‘downstream’ or post-analysis stages. The applied researcher has a greater interest than the pure researcher in taking the investigation beyond analysis into the realms of application of results and monitoring the effects of proposed strategies. Researcher participation in the implementation stage may range from recommendations in scholarly publications or contracted reports (a route f avoured by most academic applied geographers, although not exclusively) to active involvement in implementation (more usually by applied geographers employed outside academia). Between these positions lie a variety of degrees of engagement, including acting as expert witnesses at public inquiries, dissemination of research findings via the media, field involvement in, for example, landscape conservation projects, and monitoring the effects of policies and strategies enacted by governmental and private sector agencies. The balance between pure and applied research within a discipline varies over time in relation to the prevailing socio-political environment. When external pressures are at their greatest, disciplines will tend to emphasise their problem-solving capacity, while dur ing per iods of national economic expansion ‘more academic’ activity may be pursued in comfort. Taylor (1985) equated these cycles with the long waves of the world economy, and identified three periods in which applied geography was in the ascendancy (in the late nineteenth century, inter-war era and mid1980s) separated by two per iods of pure geography (in the early twentieth century and during the post-1945 economic boom) (Table 1.1). Our exploration of the link between pure and applied research is not to imply the superiority of one form of knowledge over the other. Rather, it focuses attention on the fundamental question of the use to which the results of geographical

7

research may be put. More specifically, the applied geographer’s interest in the application of their research findings is of particular importance given the role of values in the formulation of political decisions. As Harvey (1984: p. 7) observed ‘geography is far too important to be left to generals, politicians, and corporate chiefs. Notions of “applied” and “relevant” geography pose questions of objectives and interests served…. There is more to geography than the production of knowledge’ (emphasis added). This conclusion underlines the need for explicit consideration of both the role of values in applied geography and the value of the applied geographical approach. These questions are considered below.

THE VALUE OF APPLIED GEOGRAPHY

A fundamental question for those working within the framework of applied geography concerns the value of a problem-oriented approach. We have examined this issue already in our discussions of useful knowledge and the relationship between pure and applied research, but we return to it here to address the specific critique of applied geography that has emanated from Marxist theorists. While the power of the Marxist critique has been much reduced by its own success in exposing the value bases of research, it still offers a useful perspective on the value of applied research. The essence of the Marxist critique of applied social research is that it produces ameliorative policies that merely serve to patch up the present system, aid the legitimation of the state and bolster the forces of capitalism, with their inherent tendencies to create inequality. For these radical geographers, participation in policy evaluation and formulation is ineffective, since it hinders the achievement of the greater goal of revolutionary social change. In ter ms of praxis, the outcome of this perspective is to do nothing short of a radical reconstruction of the dominant political economy (a position which, as we have seen, may also be reached from a different direction by

8

INTRODUCTION

Table 1.1 Cycles of pure and applied geography.

postmodernist theorists). Although the analytical value of the Marxist critique of capitalism is widely acknowledged, its political agenda, and in par- the contrary, it signals a need for greater engageticular opposition to any action not directed at revolutionary social change, finds little favour among applied geographers. To ignore the opportunity to improve the quality of life of some people in the short term in the hope of achieving possibly greater benefit in the longer term is not commensurate with the ethical position implicit in the problem-oriented approach of applied geography, Neither does the argument that knowledge is power and a public commodity that can be used for good or evil undermine the strength of applied geography. Any knowledge could be employed in

an oppressive and discriminating manner to accentuate inequalities of wealth and power, but this is no argument for eschewing research. On ment by applied geographers in the policymaking and implementation process provided, of course, that those involved are aware of and avoid the danger of co-optation by, for example, funding agencies. Furthermore, access to the expertise and knowledge produced by applied geographical research is not the sole prerogative of the advantaged in society but can be equally available to pressure g roups or local communities seeking a more equitable share of society’s resources. As Frazier (1982: p. 16) commented, applied research ‘involves the formulation of goals and strategies and the

IN PURSUIT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE testing of existing institutional policies within the context of ethical standards as criteria. This should not imply a simple system maintenance approach to problem solving. Indeed, it is often necessar y to take an unpopular antiestablishment position, which can result in a major confrontation.’ For practical examples of this, we need only refer to the pragmatic radicalism practised by the Cleveland City Planning Commission (Kraushaar 1979), the recommendations of the British Community Development Projects, which advocated fundamental changes in the distribution of wealth and power and which led to conflict with both central and local government, and more recent policy-oriented analyses of poverty and deprivation in which the identification of socio-spatial patter ns is used to advance a critique of government policy (Pacione 1990).

VALUES IN APPLIED GEOGRAPHY

At each stage of the research process, the applied geographer is f aced with a number of methodological and ethical questions. Decisions are required on defining the nature of the problem, its magnitude, who is affected and in what ways, and on the best means of addressing the problem. All of these require value judgements on, for example, the acceptability of existing conditions (what is an acceptable level of air pollution? or of infant malnutrition?). Values are also central to the evaluation and selection of possible remedial strategies, including comparative analysis of the benefits and disbenefits of different approaches for different people and places. In some cases, the applied geographer may seek to minimise such value judgements by enhancing the objectivity of the research methodology (for example, by employing a classification of agricultural land capability to inform a set-aside policy). In most instances, however, it is impossible to remove the need for value judgement. As Briggs (1981: p. 4) concluded, ‘whether objectivity is ever achieved is a moot point. In most cases the subjectivity is merely transferred from the client

9

(for example the politician or the planner) to the research designer.’ The impossibility of objective value-free research is now axiomatic. One issue of particular concern refers to the values that condition the selection, conduct and implementation of research, a dilemma highlighted by the aphorism ‘he who pays the piper calls the tune’. J.T.Coppock (1974: p. 9), an advocate of public policy research by applied geographers, expressed this in terms of ‘doubts over whether government departments will commission necessar y research into the effectiveness and consequences of their own policies and there is a real danger that constraints will be imposed over publication, especially if this contains criticisms of the sponsors or explores politically sensitive areas’. Applied geographer s must beware of any restrictions imposed by research sponsors and aware of the ways in which their research results may be used. Applied geographers must seek to ensure that their work contributes to human welfare. In practice, this goal may be approached by careful selection of clients and research projects, by ensuring freedom to disseminate results and, where possible, through engagement in the implementation and monitor ing of relevant policy or strategies.

TYPES OF APPLIED RESEARCH

In deciding how to engage in applied geography, practitioners have recourse to three principal kinds of science (Habermas 1974).These are: 1 2

3

the empirical-analytical, in which the goal is to predict the empirical world using the scientific methods of positivism; the historical-hermeneutic, with the goal of interpretation of the meaning of the world by examining the thoughts behind the actions that produce the world of experience; the realist-emancipatory, where the goal is to uncover the real explanations governing society and encourage people to seek a superior social formation.

10

INTRODUCTION

A key feature of Haber mas’ approach to knowledge is the recognition that different types of science have different goals. Each of these is of relevance for the practice of applied geography. The empirical-analytical approach using positivist scientific explanation remains the principal route to knowledge in applied physical geography, where a primary goal is the understanding, prediction and eventual control of environmental events. Despite the availability of powerful computer algorithms, however, the complexity of many physical environmental processes can confound this prime objective (we need think only of the accuracy of long-range weather forecasts or our primitive attempts at earthquake prediction). In addition, despite a continuing attachment to positivist science, applied physical geographers, in particular those working on environmental problems and management issues, recognise the importance of human agency in environmental change and the role of values in decision making and policy for mulation. Slaymaker (1997), for example, argues for a pluralist problem-oriented geomorphology in which the predominant science of positivism is augmented by a realist philosophy that acknowledges the effect of social structures and human geography. The goal of prediction and control within human geography—often referred to as ‘social engineering’ or the manipulation of society towards certain ends—is even more problematic (despite the availability of sophisticated macroeconomic models, few governments can claim to control their own economic destiny). Generally, social engineering, such as that attempted in the neighbourhood planning of the early post-war British new towns, has been discredited as both ineffective and ethically unacceptable. Positivist science, although of continuing value in applied physical geography, has limited relevance for applied research in human geography, which draws its methodology from a larger pool. In applied terms, the goal of histor icalhermeneutic science is to increase both selfawareness (by assisting people to reflect on their situation) and mutual awareness (by promoting

appreciation of the situations of others). The importance (or usefulness) of inculcating mutual understanding through applied research is seen most clearly in situations where it is lacking—for example within cities, where the stereotyping of areas and social groups can lead to social tension, isolation and conflict. The third route to knowledge, via realist science, builds on the foundations of mutual understanding promoted by historical-hermeneutic or humanistic science and seeks to promote real understanding for people of their position within the socio-political structure and of the factors that condition their lifestyles and living environments. For example, by explaining the factors underlying the closure of a local factory, realist science can provide redundant workers with knowledge of the causal forces behind the event and thereby empower their response in the political arena. Habermas’ three-fold typology of science can be used to characterise applied geographers as technicians, agents provocateur or catalysts for social change (Johnston 1986), but this would be an over-simplification. No matter which route to knowledge the applied geographer adopts and irrespective of the methodologies employed, all are moving towards the goal of enhancing human well-being, guided by the shared philosophy of the pursuit of useful knowledge for the resolution of contemporary social, economic and environmental problems.

A PROTOCOL FOR APPLIED GEOGRAPHY

Applied geography is an approach that can be pursued via any of the three main types of science. Accordingly, there is no single method of doing applied geographical research. Nevertheless, it is useful to examine one possible protocol, which, with appropriate methodological modifications to suit the task in hand, can provide a framework for many investigations in applied geography. The procedure may be summar ised as description, explanation, evaluation and prescription (DEEP) followed by implementation and monitoring

IN PURSUIT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE

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Figure 1.1 A protocol for applied geographical analysis.

(Figure 1.1). The ‘DEEP’ procedure represents a useful analytical algorithm. However, the clarity and organisation of the scheme does not imply that simple answers are expected to contemporary social, economic or environmental problems. Normally, in order to understand the nature and causes of real-world problems it is necessary to untangle a Gordian knot of causal linkages that underlie the observed difficulty. In some cases, such as the link between ground slippage and building collapse, cause and effect are relatively straightforward, but in most instances the cause of a problem may be more apparent than real. Thus

while the immediate cause of the problems faced by a poor family on a deprived council estate in Liver pool may be a lack of employment opportunities following the closure of a local factory, the root cause of the social and financial difficulties confronting the family may lie in the decisions of investment managers based in London, New York or Tokyo. As Figure 1.1 indicates, as well as describing the nature and explaining the causes of problems, the applied geographer also has a role to play in evaluating possible responses and in prescr ibing appropr iate policies and

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INTRODUCTION

programmes that may be implemented by planners and managers in both the public and private sectors, or by the residents of affected communities. In performing these tasks, the applied geographer will be confronted with a variety of potential responses for any problem. The selection of appropriate strategy is rarely straightforward. The decision must be based on not only technical criteria but also on a wide range of conditioning factors, including the views and preferences of those affected by the problem and proposed solution, available finance, and externality considerations or how the strategy to resolve a particular problem (such as construction of flood control levees) may affect other problems (such as increased flooding of downstream communities). As indicated earlier, applied geographers, in contrast to ‘pure’ geographers, may also be involved in the implementation stage of the research, nor mally in a supervisory or consultancy capacity to ensure effective application of a strategy. The nature of any engagement is potentially wide-ranging, for example from overseeing the setting-up of a computer-based route-planning system for a private transport company or public ambulance service to making one’s expertise available to community g roups seeking to establish a housing cooperative or local economic development initiative. Finally, as Figure 1.1 reveals, applied geographers may be involved in monitor ing the impacts of policies and programmes implemented to tackle a problem, and in relating these critically to predetermined normative goals.

THE HISTORICAL DEVELOPMENT OF APPLIED GEOGRAPHY

Applied geography has a long history. As Martin and James (1993) indicated, ‘there has never been a time when the search for knowledge about the earth as the home of man has not been undertaken for practical purposes as well as for the satisfaction of intellectual curiosity’.

The earliest geographical research was, of necessity, useful, concer ned as it was with describing the nature of the Earth as an aid to exploration and human survival. The applied tradition was central to the Earth measurement and cartographic research of mathematical geographers working under the direction of Eratosthenes at Alexandria (Bunbury 1879). Strabo in his account of the utility of geography in Greek and Roman society identified a central role for geographical knowledge in politics and warfare. During the first millennium AD, the same motives stimulated the development of geographical knowledge and map making in China. In Islamic lands, this was complemented by the production of travel guides as an aid to pilgrims making the haj. These stimuli to applied geography were boosted by the voyages of discovery of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries at a time when the possession of accurate geographical knowledge bestowed enormous advantage. Dur ing the sixteenth century, geographical research was undertaken with the principal purpose of enabling European ships to navigate the world and return with the produce of distant lands for commercial profit (Taylor 1930). Significantly, few of these early practitioners of applied geog raphy would have descr ibed themselves as geographers—explorers, adventurers, sailors, traders, astronomers, cartographers, cosmographers, natural scientists, mathematicians, historians, philosophers, surveyors or topographers, but few outright geographers. (What has in more recent times been referred to as the cocktail party syndrome— ‘Oh, you’re a geographer! What do you do?’ —also has a long history.) A second point of note is that the early acquisition of geographical knowledge was designed to facilitate domination by merchants or rulers, and the ways in which the knowledge was applied often had negative consequences for those peoples brought within the ambit of the emerging capitalist economic system.While modern applied geographers have been sensitised to the socially reg ressive consequences of the misuse of

IN PURSUIT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE geographical research (by the work of anarchist geographers such as Kropotkin and by the Marxist critique of positivist science) at the beginning of the seventeenth century, such concerns were far from the thoughts of those practising geography. Varenius, one of the founders of geography as a formal academic discipline, justified the subject on three grounds: 1 2 3

its value being well suited to man as the dominant species on Earth; its being a pleasant and worthy recreation to study the regions of the Earth and their properties; and ‘its remarkable utility and necessity, since neither theologians, nor medical men, nor lawyers, nor historians, nor other educated persons can do without knowledge of geography if they wish to advance in their studies without hindrance’ (Bowen 1981: p. 282).

The commercial and political nature of applied research continued as an important feature of the discipline throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. In one of the earliest published references to applied geography, Keltie (1890) sought to demonstrate the importance of geographical knowledge for history and especially industry, commerce and colonisation. Similarly, in North America the early efforts of the American Geographical Society at the turn of the century supported exploration and expeditions in the hope of producing ‘not only new scientific data but facts of practical use to the merchant or missionary’ (Wright 1952: p. 69). In the early decades of the twentieth century, the development of applied geography was advanced by A.J.Herber tson (1910), who envisaged the role of geographical prospector mapping the economic value and potential of regions, and by P.Geddes (1915), who was both the founding father of planning and an advocate and exponent of applied geography based on his dictum of ‘survey before action’. The scope of applied geography was broadened by ‘actionoriented’ research undertaken in the 1930s in the UK by G.H.Daysh on the problems of distressed

13

areas; by A.E.Smailes on the conurbations, local administrative boundaries, the concept of a cityregion, and, most perceptively, on the possible role of regional parliaments; and by L.D. Stamp, who employed the methods of survey and analysis in his land-use studies of Britain (Stamp 1946). A similar concer n with land-use issues character ised applied geography in Nor th America between the wars. The tradition of resource inventory encapsulated in the numerous explorations and surveys of the American west was continued in the work of C.Sauer on landuse classification. Sauer’s land-use survey of Michigan was of the same genre as the First Land Utilisation Survey of Britain, organised by Stamp. In the field of water resource management, between 1935 and 1938, H.Bar rows drew up plans for the distribution of user rights to the waters of the upper Rio Grande between the states of Colorado, New Mexico and Texas. The importance of applied geographical research was also demonstrated in economic development planning by the Tennessee Valley Authority, as well as overseas, as in the preparation of a rural land classification and development plan for Puerto Rico. Geographical research was also applied in the private sector during the inter-war years, notable examples being C.Thor nthwaite’s use of knowledge of climatology for the benefit of the dairy industry in New Jersey, and the work of W.Applebaum on the location of new retail outlets for the Kroger company. This latter work pioneered the development of marketing geography as an applied field covering issues such as competitive impact analysis and the application of academic models of travel patterns to the business sector (Applebaum 1961). Applied geographers have also been called into service in times of war and its aftermath.The skills of terrain analysis, air-photograph and satellite imagery interpretation, intelligence gathering, weather forecasting, mapping, route planning and logistics are all of vital importance for military planning. Geographical knowledge and skills are of equal value during the ensuing peace in, for

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INTRODUCTION

example, adjudicating boundary disputes. The American geographer I.Bowman played a major role as chief territorial specialist in the Versailles Peace Conference following the First World War, and was involved in the resolution of territorial disputes both within the USA (notably between Oklahoma and Texas) and between a number of Latin American states during the inter-war period, including those between Chile and Peru (1925), Bolivia and Paraguay (1929) and Colombia and Venezuela (1933). The growing academic importance of applied geography was recognised by the creation in 1964 of an Inter national Geographical Union Commission on Applied Geography. An indication of the concerns of contemporary applied geography is provided by the programme for the 1972 meeting of the commission. This included study of: • • • • •

problems relating to the management of resources in developing countries; planning for urbanisation; forecasting the impact of technology and development programmes in different countries; problems of water supply and environmental pollution; and exploration of new methods of research using computers in all branches of applied geography.

The continued emphasis on land-use issues is apparent in the IGU agenda, as well as in the main themes of applied geography in British universities identified by Freeman (1972). These documents provide a snapshot of key contemporary issues (such as regional planning), emerg ing specialisms (e.g. mathematical modelling) and issues of continuing concern (including environmental pollution and conflict over urban sprawl), as well as the notable absence of themes that have come to the fore subsequently (such as poverty and deprivation, the geography of AIDS, and applications of global positioning systems). Probably unwittingly, as he was talking in the particular context of land-use issues, Freeman also gives a hint of the

relevance debate that was shortly to impact on geog raphy in his obser vation that ‘no geographical study can have validity unless the wishes of people are taken into full consideration’ (p. 41). The last quarter of the twentieth century saw the greatest change in the practice of applied geography. Foremost among these developments was the emergence of a welfare-oriented socially responsible applied geography.This was stimulated by theoretical and methodological changes within the discipline, and more generally within wider society.After two decades of relative prosperity, the economies of Britain and America began to experience difficulties during the late 1960s as the post-war boom faltered. At the same time, major societal events such as the US involvement in the Vietnam War, racial unrest in American cities, the civil rights movement, feminism and consumer rights and environmental groups contributed to a concern over the general issue of ‘quality of life’. In contrast to the optimistic growth-centred outlook of earlier years, poverty and inequality were rediscovered in the American city. ‘By the end of the 1960s urban policy in the United States was in disarray, and by any measure the American central city was in severe distress’. (Ley 1983: p. 1). For some radical geographers, these trends provided clear signs that ‘the late twentieth century will be a period of continuing and escalating societal crises, the likes of which we have not yet known’ (Peet 1977: p. 1). Similar tensions were being experienced to varying degrees in Britain and Europe. These societal influences were reflected in the chang ing substantive concer ns of applied geography. The direction of change is indicated clearly by the content of papers delivered to annual meetings of the American Association of Geographers in the early 1970s. At the 67th annual meeting, held in Boston in 1971, themes included geographical perspectives on poverty and social well-being, ethnic and religious groups, and urban policy, with a general session devoted to discussion of the problems and strategies facing ‘socially responsible geographers’.This trend was continued at the 68th annual meeting in Kansas, where topics

IN PURSUIT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE included a session on metropolitan spatial injustice, and other action-oriented papers on ‘place utility, social obsolescence and qualitative housing change’, ‘cr ime rates as ter r itor ial social indicators’, and ‘environmental stress and maladaptive behaviour’. The ‘relevance debate’ was also taken up by geographers in the UK (Chisholm 1971; Prince 1971; Smith 1971; Dickenson and Clarke 1972; Berry 1972). One result was that while the pre-war consideration of land-use issues, including urban sprawl, countryside conservation, land use and resource management, continued to attract attention, these were displaced from centre stage by questions relating to the geography of poverty and hunger (Morrill and Wohlenberg 1971), crime (Harries 1974), health care (Shannon and Dever 1974), ethnic segregation (Rose 1971), education (Kirby 1979) and the allocation of public goods (Cox 1973). While most applied (human) geographers were agreed on the important issues, the social relevance ‘movement’ was far from united over the question of the best route towards a solution. For some, action within the existing structure of society was preferred, whereas others advocated a more radical approach aimed at a fundamental restructuring of the social order. The liberal approach essentially represented a continuation of the philosophy that underlay much of the applied geography and landuse planning of the inter-war and immediate postwar periods. Work on social issues in the liberal tradition included the mapping of spatial variations in quality of life (Knox 1975) as an input to planning and as a means of monitoring the distributional effects of social policies. Other researchers were more willing to embrace the radical alternatives to liberal formulations. The argument in favour of a Marxist approach was presented by Folke (1972), who considered that geography and the other social sciences are ‘highly sophisticated, technique-oriented, but largely descriptive disciplines with little relevance for the solution of acute and seemingly chronic social problems… theory has reflected the values and interests of the ruling class’ (p. 13). The Marxist critique of capitalism was also a critique of

15

empirical positivist science and, understandably, applied physical geographers found the relevance debate largely irrelevant to the conduct of their research.While we acknowledge the profound and largely beneficial influence of the relevance debate on applied human geography, this does not amount to castigation of applied physical geographers or spatial scientists for a failure to adopt the same precepts. As we have seen, there is more than a single type of science, more than a single route towards knowledge and enlightenment, and all modes of analysis have the capacity to contribute to the applied geographer’s goal of addressing real-world problems. The development of applied geography has been accompanied by debate over the relative merits of pure and applied research. Critics such as Cooper (1966) and more recently Kenzer (1989) war ned against the application of geographical methods as a threat to the intellectual development of the discipline. Conversely, Applebaum (1966) took the view that ‘geography as a discipline has something useful to contribute to man’s struggle for a better and more abundant life. Geographers should stand up and be counted among the advocates and doers in this struggle’ (p. 198). In similar vein, Abler (1993) considered that ‘too many geographers still preoccupy themselves with what geog raphy is; too few concern themselves with what they can do for the societies that pay their keep’ (p. 225). There is no reason why an individual researcher cannot maintain a presence in both pure and applied research. The eminent American geographer C.Sauer was both a ‘scholar’ who conducted research on agricultural origins and dispersals and an ‘applied geographer’ who developed a land classification system for the state of Michigan. The terms ‘pure’ and ‘applied’ are best seen as the ends of a continuum rather than unrelated polar opposites.

APPLIED GEOGRAPHY: PROSPECTIVE

The practical value of the applied geographical approach has been demonstrated in the foregoing discussion of the principles and practice of applied

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INTRODUCTION

geography and is illustrated by the wide range of research work presented in this book. Applied geographers are actively engaged in investigating the causes and ameliorating the effects of ‘natural’ phenomena such as acid precipitation, landslides and flooding. Key issues of environmental change and management also represent a focus for applied geog raphical research, with significant contributions being made in relation to a host of problems, ranging from the quality and supply of water, deforestation and desertification to a series of land-use issues, including agricultural deintensification, derelict and vacant land, and wetland and townscape conservation. Applied geographers with a particular interest in the built environment have, in recent decades, directed considerable research attention to the gamut of social, economic and environmental problems that confront the populations of urban and rural areas in both developed and developing countries. Problems of housing, poverty, crime, transport, ill health, socio-spatial segregation and discrimination have been the subject of intense investigation, while other topics under examination include problems ranging from boundary disputes and political representation to city marketing. The application of techniques in applied geographical analysis is of particular relevance in relation to spatial analyses, where the suite of problems addressed by applied geographers ranges from computer mapping of disease incidence to simulation and modelling of the processes of change in human and physical environments. The list of research undertaken by applied geographers is impressive, but there are no grounds for complacency. While applied geographers have made a major contribution to the resolution of real-world problems, particularly in the context of the physical environment, in terms of social policy formulation in the post-war era the influence of applied geography has been mixed and arguably less than hoped for by those socially concerned geographers who engaged in the relevance debate a quarter of century ago. Several reasons may be proposed to account for this. The first refers to the eclectic and poorly

focused nature of geography and the fact that ‘geographical’ work is being undertaken by ‘nongeographers’ in other disciplines.This undermines the identity of geography as a subject with something particular to offer in public policy debate. The very breadth of the discipline, which for many represents a pedagogic advantage, may blur its image as a point of reference for decision makers seeking an informed input. Geographers wishing to influence public policy must compete with other, more clearly identified, ‘experts’ working on similar themes. A second reason for the relatively limited influence on public policy may be the apparent reluctance of (human) geographers to ‘get their hands dirty’ —an attitude redolent of the eighteenth-centur y distinction between gentlemen, who derived a livelihood from the proceeds of land ownership, and those who earned a living through trade. This applies less to research in physical geography, where a basis in empirical science and positivist methodology has ensured that applied research has attracted support and acclaim more readily both from within the discipline and from external agencies. Significantly, the growth of environmentalism and the accompanying convergence of the philosophy and methodology of physical and human geography has gone some way towards bridging the gap between the two major sub-areas of the discipline and may represent a route for applied geographers to increase their policy influence. The changing content and shifting emphases of human geography during the last quarter of the twentieth century represent a third factor underlying the limited social impact of applied geography. Over the period, the replacement of the earlier land-use focus in applied human geography by questions relating to the geography of poverty, crime, health care, ethnic segregation, education and the allocation of public goods brought applied geog raphers into direct confrontation with those responsible for the production and reproduction of these social problems. Unsurprisingly, since policy makers are resistant to research that might undermine the legitimacy of the dominant ideology, social policy

IN PURSUIT OF USEFUL KNOWLEDGE remained largely impervious to geographical critique, particularly that which emanated from the Marxist analysis of capitalism. The failure of applied geography to exert a major influence on social policy, however, does not signal the failure of applied geography to promote any significant improvement in human well-being, which, as we have seen, can be achieved by means other than via public policy. Any assessment of the contr ibution of applied geography to the resolution of real-world problems must balance the limited success in the specific area of social policy against the major achievements of applied geographers in the large number of other problem areas outlined above. Rather than dwelling on the limited impact to date of applied geographical research in the field of social policy, applied geographers can draw encouragement from their unwillingness to compromise a critical stance in retur n for public research funds or public acceptability of research findings. Furthermore, much of the applied social research undertaken achieves the goal of addressing real-world problems via its emancipatory power to expose the structural under pinnings of contemporary sociospatial problems and by encourag ing exploration of alternative social arrangements. Applied geography is an approach whose rationale is based on the particular philosophy of relevance or social usefulness and which focuses on the application of geographical knowledge and skills to advance the resolution of real-world social, economic and environmental problems. As the contents of this book demonstrate, applied geographers are active across the human-physical geography divide and in most sub-areas of the discipline.The range of applied research presented in the book illustrates not only the contribution that applied geography is currently making towards the resolution of social, economic and environmental problems at a variety of geographic scales but also the potential of the approach to address the continuing difficulties that confront humankind. Applied geography is a socially relevant approach to the study of the relationship between people and their environments. The principles,

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practice and potential of applied geography to engage a wide range of real-world problems commends the approach to all those concerned about the quality of present and future living conditions and environments on planet Earth.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

The changing nature and content of applied geography can be gauged from inspection of the texts by L.D.Stamp (1960) Applied Geography, Harmondsworth: Penguin; and J.W.Frazier (1982) Applied Geography: Selected Perspectives, Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, and by comparing these with the structure and content of the present volume. Insight into the ‘relevance debate’ of the early 1970s may be gained by examining successive issues of the journal Area between 1971 and 1973. For a contemporary view of ongoing research in applied geography, the journals Applied Geography, Progress in Human Geography and Progress in Physical Geography provide regular reports on new research, including work from an applied perspective.

REFERENCES Abler, R. (1993) Desiderata for geography: an institutional view from the U.S., in R.J.Jonnston (ed.) The Challenge For Geography. Oxford: Blackwell, 215–38. Applebaum, W. (1961) Teaching marketing geography by the case method. Economic Geography 37, 48–60. Applebaum, W. (1966) Communications from readers. Professional Geographer 18, 198–9. Berry, B. (1972) More on relevance and policy analysis. Area 4, 77–80. Bowen, M. (1981) Empiricism and Geographical Thought from Francis Bacon to Alexander von Humboldt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Briggs, D. (1981) Editorial: the principles and practice of applied geography. Applied Geography 1, 1–8. Brunsden, D. (1985) Geomorphology in the service of society, in R.J.Johnston (ed.) The Future of Geography. London: Macmillan, 225–57. Bunbury, E. (1879) A History of Ancient Geography Among the Greeks and Romans from the Earliest Ages Till the Fall of the Roman Empire. London: John Murray.

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INTRODUCTION

Chisholm, M. (1971) Geography and the question of relevance. Area 3, 65–68. Cooper, S. (1966) Theoretical geography, applied geography and planning. Professional Geographer 18, 1–2. Coppock, J.T (1974) Geography and public policy: challenges, opportunities and implications. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 63, 1–16. Cox, K. (1973) Conflict, Power and Politics in the City. New York: McGraw-Hill. Darby, H.C. (1946) The Theory and Practice of Geography. London: University of Liverpool Press. Dickenson, J. and Clarke, C. (1972) Relevance and the newest geography. Area 4, 25–27. Folke, S. (1972) Why a radical geography must be Marxist. Antipode 4, 13–18. Frazier, J.W. (1982) Applied Geography: Selected Perspectives. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Freeman, T.W. (1972) Applied geography in British universities, in R.Preston (ed.) Applied Geography and the Human Environment. Proceedings of the Fifth International Meeting of the IGU Commission on Applied Geography, University of Waterloo, 369–73. Geddes, P. (1915) Cities in Evolution. London:Williams and Northgate. Haber mas, J. (1974) Theory and Practice. London: Heinemann. Harries, K. (1974) The Geography of Crime and Justice in the United States. New York: McGraw-Hill. Hart, J.F. (1989) Why applied geography?, in M. Kenzer (ed.) Applied Geography: Issues, Questions and Concerns. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 15–22. Harvey, D. (1984) On the historical and present condition of geography: an historical materialist manifesto. Professional Geographer 36, 1–11. Herbertson, A.J. (1899) Report on the Teaching of Applied Geography. Unpublished Report to the Council of the Manchester Geographical Society. Herbertson, A.J. (1910) Geography and some of its present needs. Journal of the Manchester Geographical Society 16, 21–38. Hornbeck, D. (1989) Working both sides of the street: academic and business, in M.Kenzer (ed.) Applied Geography: Issues, Questions and Concerns. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 165–72. Johnston, R.J. (1986) On Human Geography. Oxford: Blackwell. Johnston, R.J. (1994) Applied geography, in R.J. Johnston, D.Gregory and D.M.Smith (eds.) The Dictionary of Human Geography. Oxford: Blackwell, 20–5. Keltie, J. (1890) Applied Geography: A Preliminary Sketch. London: G.Philip and Son.

Kenzer, M. (ed.) (1989) Applied Geography: Issues, Questions and Concerns. Dordrecht: Kluwer. Kirby, A. (1979) Education, Health and Housing. Farnborough: Saxon House. Knox, P. (1975) Social Well-Being: A Spatial Perspective. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kraushaar, R. (1979) Pragmatic radicalism. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 3, 61–80. Ley, D. (1983) A Social Geography of the City. New York: Harper & Row. Martin, G. and James, P. (1993) All Possible Worlds:A History of Geographical Ideas. Chichester:Wiley. Merrifield,A. and Swyngedouw, E. (1996) The Urbanisation of Injustice. London: Lawrence & Wishart. Morrill, R. and Wohlenberg, E. (1971) The Geography of Poverty in the United States. New York: McGraw-Hill. Pacione, M. (1990) What about people? A critical analysis of urban policy in the United Kingdom. Geography 75, 193–202. Palm, R. and Brazel, A. (1992) Applications of geographic concepts and methods, in R.Abler, M. Marcus and J.Olsson (eds) Geography’s Inner Worlds. New Brunswick NJ: Rutgers University Press, 342–62. Peet, R. (1977) Radical Geography. London: Methuen. Prince, H. (1971) Questions of social relevance. Area 3, 150–3. Rose, H. (1971) The Black Ghetto. New York: McGrawHill. Sant, M. (1982) Applied Geography: Practice, Problems and Prospects. London: Longman. Shannon, G. and Dever, G. (1974) Health Care Delivery: Spatial Perspectives. New York: McGraw-Hill. Slaymaker, O. (1997) A pluralist, problem-focused geomorphology, in D.Stoddart (ed.) Process and Form in Geomorphology. London: Routledge, 328–39. Smith, D.M. (1971) Radical geography—the next revolution? Area 3, 153–7. Stamp, L.D. (1946) The Land of Britain and How it is Used. London: Longman. Stoddart, D. (1987) To claim the high ground: geography for the end of the century. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 12, 327–36. Taylor, E. (1930) Tudor Geography 1485–1583. London: Methuen. Taylor, P. (1985) The value of a geographical perspective, in R.J.Johnston The Future of Geography. London: Methuen, 92–110. Wright, J. (1952) Geography in the Making. New York: American Geographical Society.

Part I

Natural and environmental hazards

2 Global warming Keith Boucher

FIELD OF STUDY AND RELEVANT LITERATURE

THE NATURE OF THE PROBLEM

Global warming is a term that entered the domain of both popular and scientific literature during the 1980s. It is closely linked with the idea of an increasing greenhouse effect, which was first calculated by a Swedish chemist, Svente August Arrhenius, in 1896 (Arrhenius 1997). It is believed that our atmosphere acts rather like a greenhouse, in which the glass allows solar radiation to pass through, where it is converted into heat.This heat is absorbed by the soil before being radiated out as long-wave radiation and intercepted this time by the glass, which re-radiates some of the energy back into the greenhouse. The atmosphere has properties rather similar to the glass of the greenhouse, hence the ‘greenhouse effect’, originally postulated by the French mathematician Jean-Baptiste Fourier (1824). Global warming would seem to imply that the whole atmospheric system is warming up as a result of the greenhouse effect, but this is far from certain. Once the nature of the problem has been outlined, three main areas of investigation will be addressed. First, there is the scientific evidence for global warming; second, the study of the likely impacts and third, the for mulation and implementation of strategies to cope with such impacts. The contribution of geographers has chiefly been in the applied field of impact studies.

The greenhouse effect

The ‘natural’ greenhouse effect occurs because some of the gases present in the atmosphere are largely transparent to incoming solar radiation but not to outgoing radiation, which is partially absorbed by water vapour, and the three main greenhouse gases. Their current percentage contributions are 70 per cent for carbon dioxide, 23 per cent for methane and 7 per cent for nitrous oxide. Water vapour is very variable in time and space. CFCs (chlorofluorocarbons) and their interaction with the variable greenhouse gas, ozone, also need to be noted as potential contributors (IPCC 1990). These gases are collectively known as ‘the greenhouse gases’. The additional amount of such gases that are present in the atmosphere as a direct or indirect result of human activity, such as power generation and vehicle emissions, leads to an ‘enhanced’ greenhouse effect. Although carbon dioxide is not the strongest absorber of outgoing long-wave terrestr ial radiation, it is believed that it has the greatest longterm potential for raising global temperatures. Most attention has therefore been directed to the increase in the concentration of carbon dioxide from 280 ppmv (parts per million by volume) at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution in the eighteenth century to current levels of 360 ppmv (Figure 2.1). The annual increase of about 1.8

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NATURAL AND ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARDS

Figure 2.1 Trend line of carbon dioxide concentrations over the past 300 years based on (a) measurements from Antarctic ice core records prior to 1958 (dashed line), (b) direct measurements from the Mauna Loa observatory in Hawaii (solid line).

Source: After Houghton 1997 and IPCC WGI 1996.

ppmv adds 3.8 Gt (gigatonnes) to the atmospheric carbon reservoir of 750 Gt (Houghton 1997).This is about half of the calculated amount of 7.5 Gt being emitted into the atmosphere from forest fires and fossil fuel burning. It is generally accepted that the remainder—about 3.7 Gt. —is absorbed by the oceans. The atmospheric carbon reservoir forms part of the global carbon cycle in which the natural atmosphere-ocean component has an annual throughput of about 90 Gt, while the

biosphereatmosphere cycle has an annual throughput of about 100 Gt. Both show a small but significant total net loss to the atmosphere of 3.7 Gt. The total annual throughput of carbon, chiefly as carbon dioxide, in the atmosphere is therefore about 25 per cent of the atmospheric reservoir of 750 Gt. The sensitivity to change in the throughput of carbon in the atmosphere needs to be considered in any discussion of global warming, since the climatic effect of relatively small changes in atmospheric carbon could be amplified within the system. Radiative forcing and equilibrium

Radiative forcing may be defined as a change in average net radiation at the tropopause which is the upper boundary of the troposphere, due to changes in incoming solar or outgoing infrared radiation. Such a change ‘perturbs’ the Earth’s radiation balance, as shown in Figure 2.2, altering the balance between incoming and outgoing radiation. It also alters the nature of the greenhouse effect, which is usually expressed in degrees C (IPCC 1995). Under present climatic conditions and carbon emissions, the natural greenhouse effect amounts to about 33°C if clouds, which act as radiation ‘blankets’, are Figure 2.2 Simplified diagram showing the mean annual radiative balance of the atmosphere. Radiative equilibrium is maintained since net incoming solar radiation is balanced by net outgoing infrared radiation (240 Wm-2). Total earth-atmosphere albedo is about 30 per cent (103/343×100). The natural greenhouse effect (33°C), shown qualitatively as infrared radiation, is absorbed and partially re-radiated back to the surface.

GLOBAL WARMING included in the calculations (Houghton 1997). The theoretical surface temperature has been calculated to be—18°C based on a 30 per cent value for the average reflectivity of the Earth and atmosphere.The actual global surface temperature is about 15°C— the difference represents the natural g reenhouse effect. Clouds play an important but complex role in this radiation balance (IPCC1990). It is customary in studying possible scenarios of a future global climate to model a doubling of the pre-industr ial (1750) carbon dioxide concentration of 280 ppmv, or its radiative equivalent. At the current rate of increase in greenhouse gas emissions under a business-asusual scenario, doubling might occur between 2070 and 2100 (IPCC 1995). Conservative radiation models of the climate system indicate an initial rise of 1.3°C for a doubling of carbon dioxide, which is equivalent to 4 W m-2 (Watts per square metre). This would mean an initial fall in outgoing radiation from 240 to 236 W m-2, which would need to be restored to 240 W m-2 to maintain radiation equilibrium. This assumes that there is no change in the average amount of solar energy reaching the outer edge of the atmosphere,

23

which is about 1,370 W m-2 (IPCC 1990). This value is referred to as ‘the solar constant’. One way of indicating the effect on the radiative balance of greenhouse gases and other components is to express this in terms of radiative forcing (W m-2) from pre-industrial times to the present. Figure 2.3 shows estimates of the annually averaged radiative forcing due to human activity over this period. It also shows the natural changes in solar output from 1850 to the present (IPCC WGI1996). The first column portrays the summed effect of carbon dioxide, methane, nitrous oxide and the halocarbons (CFCs). The radiative forcing is about 2.6 W m-2 or 0.8°C, with an error bar of 0.8 W m2 . The error bar indicates the range of current estimates by models, while the confidence level is shown as a subjective assessment by Houghton (1997). It can be seen that the level of confidence is low for both tropospheric aerosols and solar variability. Expressing the radiative forcing effect in this way has led to the concept of global warming potential (GWP), which is defined as the ratio of the enhanced greenhouse effect of any gas compared with that of carbon dioxide. GWP is then used as a basis for ‘trade-offs’ in which the increase of the GWP of one gas can be offset against Figure 2.3 Estimates of the globally and annually averaged anthropogenic radiative forcing in W m-2 due to changes in concentrations of greenhouse gases and aerosols from a preindustrial base (CO2 concentration of 280 ppmv) to 1992. Estimated solar output changes are from 1850 to 1990 (0.02% of the mean solar constant). The shaded rectangular bars represent mid-range estimates of radiative forcing—both positive and negative.

Source: Houghton 1997.

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a similar reduction in the GWP of another gas (see Box 2.3). This is very similar to the ‘bubble’ principle of pollution credits in the USA (Elsom 1992) and an integral part of the 1997 Kyoto Agreement on emission regulation. Internal feedbacks in the climate system— examples

The debate about internal changes is largely concerned with feedback processes, which may be initiated or enhanced through radiative forcing. Positive feedback tends to increase the rate of a process such as global warming. Long-term positive feedback mechanisms could prove destructive. The IPCC Report (1990) provides an example of a Sahelian drought-type positive feedback, where a drier surface resulting from rising temperatures leads to reduced evaporation, which in turn reduces humidity and cloud cover, promoting greater warming and yet drier surface conditions. If there were no restraining or counter-processes taking place, the Earth might be faced with a ‘runaway’ greenhouse effect as has occurred on Venus, where surface temperatures of about 525°C have been recorded by the Russian space probes (Houghton 1997). Negative feedback occurs when there are constant checks to the rate of a process. For example, rising sea-surface temperatures (SSTs) would increase evaporation, which in turn would increase the water vapour content in the lowest layers of the atmosphere. This could lead to greater spatial cloud coverage, decreasing the amount of incoming radiation reaching the surface, which in turn would lead to cooling of the Earth’s surface. The climate system is dominated by numerous positive and negative feedbacks, some not operating until a threshold is passed such as an SST of 27°C for tropical storm development, others operating in a non-linear or quasi-stochastic manner.

EVIDENCE FOR GLOBAL WARMING Global data sets: land

The collection and quality control of climatic records, especially the long-term near surface

temperature data, have been basic requirements of the scientific community in its task of accumulating evidence for climate change. Since few instrumental records of land surf ace temperatures existed until about 1850, it is current practice to emphasise the trends in global temperatures from 1861 onwards, when surface observing networks were becoming established in many parts of the world. In the late 1980s, three research groups produced similar analyses of hemispher ic land surface air temperature variations—Jones et al. (1986a and b) at UEA, UK; Hansen and Lebedeff (1987) at GISS, USA; and Vinnikov et al. (1987) of SHI in the former USSR, of which the updated and re-analysed data set of Jones et al. has been used in recent studies (IPCC WGI 1996). Global data sets: oceans

Since the oceans comprise over 60 per cent of the Northern Hemisphere and over 80 per cent of the Southern Hemisphere, it is important to assemble an accurate data set.The collection and correction of global SST data have been undertaken most recently by Folland and Parker (1995) of the UK Meteorological Office. They have produced improved adjustments to temperature records where canvas and wooden buckets were used to sample sea water temperatures from ships from about 1860 to 1941. It is now thought that sampling of SSTs at night might be more reliable. This would avoid any bias due to daytime heating of ships’ decks. There are also spatial gaps in the data, particularly over the southern oceans, and temporal gaps, especially in the nineteenth century and during the world wars. Except since 1975, SSTs appear to have lagged behind changes in land temperatures by several years (IPCC 1990). Global data sets: combined land and ocean

The global data record of surface land and sea temperatures is shown in Figure 2.4. It indicates the two main warming periods that have taken place since 1860, the first from 1910 to 1941 and the second from 1978 to the present

GLOBAL WARMING

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Figure 2.4 Changes in global average surface air temperature over land and sea (1851–1996) relative to the averaging period 1961–90. The solid curve represents the ten-year RM plotted mid-period. Inset: Comparison of globally averaged temperatures shown as departures from the 1979–94 average for (a) the MSU (Microwave Sounding Unit) channel of the NOAA meteorological satellites sensing temperature in the lower to mid-troposphere—1–10 km altitude (bold line); (b) radiosonde measurements in the troposphere (thin line); (c) surface air temperature data (dashed line).

Source: Houghton1997.

Although not shown on the graph, 1997 was the warmest year to date. The correlation of this record with that of the steady rise in CO2 (see Figure 2.1) is only approximate. It implies that the climate system is responding in a complex way to direct radiative forcing through increased CO2. Over a shorter time scale, Houghton (1997) has provided an interesting comparison of global seasonal temperature anomalies from three different sources—satellites (MSU), radiosondes (from Parker and Cox 1995) and surface air temperatures (see Figure 2.4, inset). While complete agreement could not be expected, the sign of the anomaly (+/-) is similar. For example, each data set shows global cooling, chiefly in 1992, which was associated with the Mount Pinatubo volcanic eruption in the Philippines in 1991.

Regional data sets

Regional collections of temperature data are still important, particularly those that have been compiled with some quality control such as that assembled for central England by Gordon Manley and subsequently extended by the UK Meteorological Office (Jones and Hulme 1997). Ensembles of non-gridded data for other parts of the world have also been produced (Hulme et al. 1994), usually with some adjustment for urban heat island effects. Regional time series may also be gridded into boxes, typically 20° latitude×60° longitude. These show considerable regional variability but also reveal coherent trends between adjacent areas within the same hemisphere (IPCC 1990: pp. 214–5). The published results indicate that moderate cooling (-0.4°C) took place in the Northern Hemisphere in the two decades after 1950, especially in the western sector (0–180° W).

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Dur ing the same per iod, the Souther n Hemisphere showed no coherent trend but the 1970s were marked by warming, and this tendency continued through to 1990 in the eastern sector (0–180° E). Renewed warming is in evidence throughout the Northern Hemisphere since the early 1970s. Attribution

The question then arises as to whether the general rise in global temperatures may be directly attributed to the greenhouse effect. Opinion has changed over the past two decades, as is evident from the following quotations. Gribbin (1978) reflected the uncertainty in the 1970s of not knowing whether the climate was cooling down or warming up, while the British government Cabinet Office statement was, in part, a reaction to the unexpectedly long Western European drought of 1975–6 and the wish to allay public fears of the impact of even greater

Box 2.1 Changing attitudes towards global warming Since the early 1960s, we have seen only too clearly, the shift towards…a slight cooling of the Northern Hemisphere that we now know signals a return towards the expanded circumpolar vortex conditions of the Little Ice Age. (Gribbin 1978: p. 54) Meteorological Office scientists take the view that the variations in weather in recent years are compatible with established climatic patterns. They see no reason to conclude from the historical record that especially large changes are likely in the next few decades. (Cabinet Office 1980) The balance of evidence suggests a discernible human influence on global climate. (IPCC WGI 1996) Although we do not have data reaching back many hundreds of years, by comparing observations of global mean temperatures with natural variability estimated from climate models, we find the warming has, over the past couple of decades, extended beyond the bounds of our estimates of natural variability. (May 1997)

climatic anomalies. Pronouncements by geographers have tended to reiterate the broad scientific opinion of the time (see Goudie 1990). However, by the end of 1995, the eight warmest years of the global record (1860–1995) had all occurred within the thirteen-year period 1983–95 (see Figure 2.4). This finally led to the first clear statement of attribution by the IPCC Scientific Working Group at its meeting late in 1995 in Madrid. Even in late 1997—the warmest year yet in the global instrumental record—there was still some caution in Br itish gover nment publications about admitting attribution (see May 1997; Box 2.1).

MODELLING CLIMATE CHANGE

Modelling now lies at the centre of enquiries into global warming. The demand of governments for climatic forecasts has led to models being used inter alia to simulate the effects of doubling CO2 on future climate. Each set of assumptions within a model run produces what has come to be known as a ‘scenario’ exemplified by the IS 92a businessas-usual scenario (see Box 2.3 on p. 32). Since about 1994, the more advanced equilibrium models have become ‘full’ in that they comprise not just the physical atmosphere but the ocean, cryosphere, land vegetation surface and chemical composition of the atmosphere. Despite increasing ability to model complex components, some fundamental problems remain. For example, in order to achieve linkage between atmosphere and ocean models, it is customary to ‘spin up’ the climate and the ocean component separately before coupling them. An example of a latitudinal performance envelope of nine atmosphere-ocean coupled models is shown in Figure 2.5 for the months December to February. It reveals that some models have rather large ‘climatic drifts’ (poor agreement) in the higher latitudes, as shown by the wider shaded area.This is mostly due to problems of sensitivity to radiative factors in the models. Unlike the equilibrium models outlined above, transient models allow for annual adjustments in greenhouse gas concentrations and could be

GLOBAL WARMING Figure 2.5 An envelope (shaded area) enclosing the results of nine ocean-atmosphere coupled models simulating present mean latitudinal surface temperature conditions expressed as departures from observed values for December to February.

Source: Adapted from Houghton 1997.

regarded as being closer to reality. Model results obtained by Hansen and Lebedeff are evaluated by Henderson-Sellers (1994) and the IPCC (1990 to 1996).

THE EFFECTS OF GLOBAL WARMING

Increasing attention is being given to the environmental consequences of climate change as the rise in global temperatures, from whatever cause, becomes more evident Potentially, the most ser ious consequences relate to effects on vegetation and changes in sea level. It is these that will be addressed here. Changing sea levels

Despite problems in measuring the sea level relative to the land over time, there seems little doubt that global sea levels have risen by about 1.2 mm yr-1 over the past century (IPCC 1990). Two of the major studies undertaken towards the end of the

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1980s agree in the overall increase since 1890, but the study by Gornitz and Lebedeff (1987) employing geological data shows a nearly linear increase over the period, while that of Barnett (1988) suggests a steeper rise of about 1.7 mm yr-1 since 1910. Gornitz (1995) has indicated a value closer to 2 mm yr-1, using a post-glacial rebound model (Tushingham and Peltier 1991) to account for the isostatic component in sea level changes. This is very close to the observed long-term record (1851—present) for stations such as San Francisco. The isostatic component, the lowering of relative sea level as calculated from one of the Peltier models, is about 0.5 mm yr-1 for a number of locations worldwide, including San Francisco. This may imply that global eustatic rise (non-isostatic component) could be approaching 2.5 mm yr-1. Relatively simple models indicate that the rise in sea level, directly attributable to global warming, has been of the order of 0.28 to 0.52 mm yr-1 averaged over the period 1880–1990 (Wigley and Raper 1993). Houghton (1997) postulates that under a business-as-usual scenario, thermal expansion of the oceans is likely to account for about 60 per cent of future sea level rise. The other main contributor to a rise in sea level is expected to be the continued melting of many glaciers, as indicated by calculations of negative cumulative mass balances. Glacial melt waters have probably provided about 20 per cent of the observed sea level rise this century increasing from about 0.35 mm yr-1 around 1900 to 0.5 mm yr-1 in the period 1985–93 (Dyurgerov and Meier 1995). In the unlikely event of all the mountain glaciers melting (excepting Antarctica and Greenland), the rise in sea level can be expected to be about 50 cm. Results from a recent model of ice depletion of mountain glaciers produced a rise of 0.5 mm yr-1 in sea level over the last 100 years (IPCC WGI 1996). The contribution of sea ice melting remains difficult to estimate. Neither hemisphere has seen significant changes to sea ice extent since 1973, although if data on the total mass of sea ice were available this might be a more meaningful indicator of any change. Manabe and Stouffer (1980) showed that the large horizontal extent and small thickness of sea ice makes it

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particularly sensitive to climatic change and albedo feedback. First-year ice thickness in the WeddellEnderby Basin is about 0.5 m while multi-year ice thickness of about 1.4 m has been measured in the Antarctic (IPCC WGII 1996). Scientific opinion has been divided on the degree of global warming needed to semi-permanently melt the Arctic sea ice (Untersteiner 1984). The total contribution of any melting of the Greenland and Antarctic ice sheets to a rise in sea level is thought to be close to zero at present. Results of models simulating a 1°C rise in global temperatures show a potential sea level rise of 0.3 mm yr -1, caused by the melting of ice over Greenland and a corresponding fall for Antarctica due to ice accumulation (IPCC WGI1996). The difference in the model estimates between the two ice sheets is a function of the way in which atmospheric feedback mechanisms may operate. A component that is not so easily modelled is that of calving of the sea ice margins and the production of icebergs, which eventually melt. It is thought that in Greenland, ice loss from surface melting and runoff is of the same order of magnitude as loss from iceberg calving (IPCC WGI 1996).This process is more closely related to the frequency and tracks of storms than to global warming directly. However, there is concern over the possible instability of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet, which some scientists believe could become dislodged from its grounding 2,500 m below sea level. If this massive volume of ice were to melt, it would raise global sea level by 5–6 m, compared

Plate 2.1 Changes in the Wardie Ice Shelf, Antarctica (photograph: British Antarctic Survey).

with 8 m for the melting of the Greenland ice sheet and 55 m for the east Antarctic ice sheet (Untersteiner 1984). A more likely scenario of West Antarctica ice shelf thinning for a 1°C warming would be a sea level rise of 0.1 mm yr-1 through to around the year 2050 (Budd et al. 1987). Effects of sea level rise

The biogeophysical effects are quite diverse and not necessarily uniform around the world. They include the inundation of wetlands and lands close to sea level, increased salinity of estuaries, a higher risk of storm flooding and erosion of shorelines, and changes to tidal ranges and the deposition of sediments. Regional responses to sea level rise through geomorphological and ecological systems are proving difficult to identify or forecast (IPCC WGII 1996). In spite of uncertainties about the degree of rise in sea level, any rise would pose a direct threat to low-lying coastal zones and islands— particularly coral atolls, reef islands and tropical coastal wetlands, where the mangrove ecosystems are under threat (IPCC WGII 1996).Where rising sea level is combined with tectonic subsidence and/or human actions that may exacerbate the problem, the situation is potentially very serious. Table 2.1 indicates the synthesised results from country case studies based on a 1 m rise in sea level by the year2100 based on the high estimate of global warming under the 1900 business-as-usual scenario. This may be regarded as extreme, but down-scaling still implies substantial problems for countr ies such as Bangladesh and China, particularly where economic growth in terms of GNP remains at a low level. Discussion about indirect effects through feedback mechanisms in the climate system is fraught with uncertainties. At present, models show rises in the mean surface air temperature, especially over land, and the majority of models indicate some increase in Asian monsoon rainfall. If the occurrence of tropical cyclones and storm surges increases, or the direction of storm tracks changes, then either could have devastating effects

GLOBAL WARMING

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Table 2.1 Estimates of impact of 1-metre rise in sea level (based on data in table 9.3, IPCC WGII 1996).

on coastal populations and habitats. Despite the impact of individual storms, the evidence from observations and from numerical and theoretical models is inconclusive at present. The storm pattern is made more difficult to interpret due to ENSO (El Niño-Southern Oscillation) events, which tend to swamp a simple global warming interpretation. Almost certainly, an understanding of the incidence of tropical storms will have to be gained through modelling the potential effects of global warming on ENSO.

C4 photosynthesis is far more complex and is essentially non-discriminatory (IPCC WGII 1996). C4 biomes include tropical grasslands and savannas. Points to note from this brief overview are, first, that small changes in the discrimination value input into net primary production models produce large variations in the carbon sink value; and, second, that there may be an upper concentration limit of CO2 in the atmosphere at which the fertilisation effect ceases. Both have implications for future levels of CO 2 in the atmosphere.

Vegetation and the nitrogen cycle

Current research suggests that the terrestrial biosphere is currently a carbon sink attaining 2.6 gigatonnes of carbon per year (1992–3), but with a high inter-annual variation. If the tropics are a net carbon source, as seems possible, then the mid/ high-latitude sink could even exceed this value. There is also a complex link between nitrogen, principally from soil organic matter, and the storage of carbon in the ecosystem. If the C:N ratio, currently between 10 and 25, were to alter as limiting conditions are reached, this would affect carbon storage. It is also known that high CO 2 conditions stimulate photosynthesis, increasing the ability of plants to fix carbon. The C3 group of plants, including wheat and rice, are well adapted to this fertilisation effect. The C3 ‘normal’ biochemical pathway is characterised by a discrimination of 18 parts per thousand, while

Agricultural productivity

The view expressed in IPCC (1990) that ‘global agricultural production can be maintained relative to baseline production in the face of climate changes likely to occur over the next century’ was maintained in IPCC WGII (1996: p. 429) with a medium confidence level. On the other hand, crop yields and productivity would probably be marked by much inter-regional change. Overall, the change is likely to be beneficial, due to the dominance of C3 crops such as barley, wheat, rice and soybeans. The C3 annual crops show yield increases of up to 30 per cent at doubled (700 ppm) CO 2 concentrations under controlled exper imental conditions (Table 2.2). This productivity could be further enhanced, since fourteen out of eighteen of the world’s worst weeds are C4 plants and would not directly benefit

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Table 2.2 Trends in world crop production along with modelled results of the impact of climate change on productivity.

from the CO 2 fertilisation effect. Potentially limiting factors include changes in insect life cycles and an increase in the survival, growth and spread of pathogens. For example, the frequency of outbreaks of powdery mildew and rust on crops is associated with milder mid-latitude winters. Changes in climatic conditions may also affect animal agriculture through feed grain availability, water availability in pasture lands and the incidence of livestock diseases. Changing vegetation patterns

While there have been numerous studies of plant metabolism under enhanced CO2, geographers are rather more interested in the redistribution of species and biome adjustment to a changing climatic environment. Webb (1986) has posed the question as to whether vegetation is in equilibr ium with climate. One method of assessing the potential for change in the biosphere has been to study vegetation and lake levels since the last glaciation. Some idea may then be obtained of the speed of response of certain biomes. It is assumed that the dynamics of

Plate 2.2 Forest fires in the Amazon (photograph: Panos Pictures).

GLOBAL WARMING

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Box 2.2 Carbon dioxide released from forest fires The year 1997 witnessed some of the worst forest and scrub fires ever recorded. There are no accurate estimates yet of how much biomass was converted into CO2, but an attempt is made to assess the impact of the fires of 1997–8. The process of forest burning in the tropics is an integral part of traditional farming, known universally as ‘slash and burn’. Regional terms include ladang in Indonesia and roça in Brazil. Some governments such as that in Malaysia have attempted to ban or control the burning, but in neighbouring Indonesia the practice has gone unchecked. While research suggests that agroforestry can help carbon sequestration by converting Imperata grasslands into more productive tree-based systems, wholesale burning fails to achieve such an end. There are other dimensions to the problem apart from the use for shifting cultivation, such as the actions of logging companies in allowing or promoting burning, and the need for more land for rice and food crops, as in the per mitted bur ning of 40,000 ha southeast of Palangkaraya (Kalimantan). To these must be added in 1997–8 the active El Niño phase of ENSO, which caused almost unprecedented drought across many parts of equatorial Southeast Asia. Estimates of C released on burning are based on the following approximations:

• • • •

1 ha contains 200–5001 (tonnes) of biomass, about 50% of which is carbon. Mature tropical forests in Indonesia average about 365 t ha-1. Burning probably releases two-thirds of carbon into the atmosphere as CO2. The intensity of the fires has caused the peat of the forest floor to ignite, adding to the release of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere by an unknown amount. The value of 365 t ha-1 is taken to include this effect in the following estimates. The same figure is used for Brazil.

Comparative data on recent burning and CO2 release: • • •

The burning of 40,000 ha would therefore release about 0.5 Mt as CO2. Around 2 million ha were lost to fire in 1997 in Indonesia alone, releasing about 0.25 Gt of CO2 (1 Gt=1,000 Mt= 109 t) (Dudley 1997). Estimates by the IPCC of CO 2 emissions from tropical land-use changes—mostly deforestation— in the late 1980s are about 1.6±0.4 Gt per annum. As may be seen from Figure 2.6, this may be compared with 1.75 Gt of CO2 emissions from fuel combustion in North America in 1996. Figure 2.6 Estimated carbon dioxide emissions into the atmosphere.

Sources: Various, mostly from Nature and IPCC. While it is very difficult to obtain estimates of emissions for a specific year, the fires of 1997–8, the worst of which were those in Brazil, must cause concern, since the addition of CO 2 is unlikely to be balanced by

sequestration through afforestation in the near future. Serious fires were also reported from Papua New Guinea, Colombia, Peru, Mexico, Australia, parts of Africa and southern Europe.

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ecosystems will change as climate changes during the coming century and that past performance of plant adaptation will apply in the future. There is some anxiety that selected plant species may die back before betteradapted species are established. Such a transient hysteresis effect in vegetation may produce a temporary peak or ‘spike’ in atmospheric CO2 concentrations (Smith and Shugart 1993). Forest fires have periodically posed a threat through the unregulated additions of CO2 to the atmosphere (see Plate 2.2 on p. 30). Box 2.2

highlights the problems of forest fires during 1997–8.

CONCLUSION

There has been no attempt here to deal with all the complex systems relating to global warming, but this is not to imply that the impacts will be restricted to changing sea levels and vegetation patterns. Changes are also likely in hydrological systems, agricultural practices, associated economic

Box 2.3 Policies for reducing carbon dioxide The Climate Convention is an attempt by the governments of the world to reach agreement on curbing emissions of greenhouse gases. The UN Framework Convention on climate change was signed by over 160 countries at the Rio Conference on Environment and Development in 1992. Details are provided by Houghton (1997). This was subsequently revised at the 1997 Kyoto Conference after considerable lobbying. It is unclear how effective the Kyoto agreement will be due to problems of monitoring and implementation agreements on greenhouse gas emissions. However, the aim of the Climate Convention was to slow down and then stabilise global emissions to 1990 levels. This was to be achieved by switching to more energy-efficient fuels. Natural gas, for example, generates 40 per cent less CO2 than coal for the same energy output, but such a switch of fuel is not an option for many countries. There is also a vested interest by a number of transnational companies in increasing the consumption levels of oil in the drive towards greater economic growth. By 1998, changes in CO2 emissions had less to do with energy saving than with political changes, despite the attempt by some industrial countries to stabilise emissions. Trends during the 1990s indicate that the industrial countries (OECD) showed increases of around 4 per cent, while the increase in developing countries was about 25 per cent but from a lower 1990 emission level. Only a decline of 25 per cent in Eastern Europe, associated with economic collapse, allowed world emissions to remain almost constant. This ‘accidental’ stabilisation is unlikely to continue, even if the ‘tiger’ economies of East Asia suffer economic decline under a ‘boom-bust’ scenario. Unfortunately, additional uncontrolled emissions (see Box 2.2) have probably renewed the upward global trend seen in the 1980s. THE TIME COMPONENT

The basic options that are presented in the models of global warming are (1) act now and (2) delay until

later— usually termed ‘business-as-usual’ or BaU. There are possibilities between these two extremes, but problems of economic inertia and political ‘shorttermism’ mean that these are relatively unattractive. In any case, climate models such as the Dutch IMAGE 2 model point to good scientific reasons for acting now. This is because waiting until 2010 to act will be too late in attempting to curb the higher rate of expected emissions. In opposition to this scientific and legal view, the BaU lobby insists that waiting until 2010 is the only viable option for industrial countries (referred to as Annex 1 countries), since new technology will then become available. Non-Annex 1 countries could wait until 2030. There is partial scientific support for BaU (Wigley et al. 1997). OTHER ISSUES

• The USA favours a ‘net’ approach, in which a country’s inventory of carbon emissions will include forest burning as well as sequestration (afforestation) programmes. It also supports a ‘global bubble’ solution in which the trading of pollution credits would be permitted. • The EU favours the ‘basket’ policy, in which the combined effects of carbon dioxide, methane and nitrous oxide are taken into account. • The G77 developing countries group is opposed to the basket policy and wishes there to be targets for individual gases to be achieved domestically. Most of these countries are opposed to pollution quota trading, want drastic reductions by 2020 and an economic compensation fund. • Another approach that was considered at the Kyoto Conference was the idea of a per capita emission rate with convergence to a value of 1 tonne CO2 per capita per year by 2030. This would stabilise CO 2 concentrations at around 450 ppmv. Others favour 560 ppmv, since this represents a doubling of pre-industrial levels and accords with model scenarios.

GLOBAL WARMING activities, energy options and impact assessments. Policies need to be put in place to mitigate the worst effects of global warming. Some of these are highlighted in Box 2.3. There is, unfortunately, no sign as yet that most nations of the world will show sufficient resolve or ability to reduce greenhouse gas emissions in the near future. One of the most difficult aspects of global warming is estimating its regional climatic impact (Houghton 1997) and the downstream effect on water and food supplies.The estimated impact may be complicated by other events such as the 1997 ENSO anomaly, which reversed rainfall patterns over wide areas of the tropics. The link between global warming and an enhanced ENSO event is even less easy to establish and is ‘not intuitively obvious’ (Meehl and Branstator 1992). It is a warning that not only are there many ‘actors’ on the climate scene but there are also many and possibly unforeseen ways in which the climate system may respond in terms of positive and negative feedbacks. It is hoped that the increasing sophistication of climate models will be a valuable tool in unravelling the global climate system and its response to forcing through global warming. This scientific advance needs to be matched by the better understanding of economic, social and political responsibilities in the stewardship of finite global resources.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

The detailed reports of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) provide the findings of a broad consensus of scientists relating to global warming and are listed in the References section. Houghton (1997) has provided a clearly written summary accompanied By notes of the background and results from 1990 to 1997 of the IPCC, of which he has been the chairman. The next IPCC report is due in 2000. The following books inter alia provide a more general survey: Bernard, H.W. (1993) Global Warming Unchecked. Indiana University Press; Schneider, S.H. (1990) Global Warming: Are We Entering the Greenhouse Century?

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There are other specialised texts on related aspects, such as that by Pirazzoli, P.A. (1996) Sea Level Changes:The Last 20,000Years. For modelling, see McGuffie, K. and A. Henderson-Sellers (1997) A Climate Modelling Primer, 2nd edn, with CD-ROM. Articles may be found in such journals as Global Environmental Change, Climate Change,Ambio, Earth Surface Processes and Landforms, with more specialist notes in Nature and Science. Updates on global warming occur regularly in Progress in Physical Geography. Web sites in the UK include the following (note: these are subject to change): Climatic Research Unit at the University of East Anglia—Tiempo Climate Cyberlibrary: http://www.cru.uea.ac.uk/tiempo/ The Hadley Centre for Climate Prediction and Research. UK Meteorological Office, http:// www.meto.govt.uk/sec5/sec5pg1.html (see ‘Global Warming Gallery’) Web sites elsewhere in the world include (links to other sites usually listed): The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC): http://www.ipcc.ch/ Official web site of the Climate Change Secretariat: http://www.unep.ch/iucc/ US Environmental Protection Agency: http:// www.epa.gov/globalwarming/ Articles, news, etc. (US): http://www.law.pace.edu/ env/energy/globalwarming.html Planetvision: http://www.envirolink.org/orgs/edf/ Virtual Museum on Global Warming (US): http:/ /www.edf.org/pubs/Brochures/GlobalWarming/

REFERENCES Arrhenius, G. (1997) Carbon dioxide warming of the early Earth, Ambio 26, 12–16. Barnett, T.P. (1988) Global sea level change. In NCPO, Climate Variations over the Past Century and the Greenhouse Effect. A report based on the First Climate Trends Workshop, 7–9 September 1988, Washington DC, National Climate Program Office/ NOAA, Rockville, Maryland.

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Budd,W.F., McInnes, B.J., Jenssen, D. and Smith, I.N. (1987) Modelling the response of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet to a climate warming. In C.J.van der Veen and J.Oerlemans (eds) Dynamics of the West Antarctic Ice Sheet, Dordrecht: D.Reidel 321–58. Cabinet Office (1980) Climatic Change, London: HMSO. Dudley, N. (1997) The year the world caught fire. World Wildlife Fund International, Discussion Paper, December, 35 pp. Dyurgerov, M.B. and Meier, M.F. (1995) Year to year fluctuations in global mass balances of glaciers and their contribution to sea level changes. IUGG XXI Assembly Abstracts, B318,American Geophysical Union. Elsom, D. (1992) Atmospheric Pollution, A Global Problem. Oxford: Blackwell, 422 pp. Folland, C.K. and Parker, D.E. (1995) Corrections of instrumental biases in historical sea surface temperature data. Quarterly Journal of the Royal Meteorological Society 121, 319–67. Fourier, J.-B, (1824) Mémoire sur les temperatures du globe terrestre et des espaces planétaires. Mémorandum Académique Scientifique de l’Institution Françhise 7, 569–604. Gornitz,V. (1995) Sea level rise: a review of recent past and near future trends. Earth Surface Processes and Landforms 20, 7–20. Gornitz,V. and Lebedeff, S. (1987) Global sea level changes during the past century. In D.Nummedal, O.H.Pilkey and J.D.Howard (eds) Sea Level Change and Coastal Evolution. Society for Economic Palaeontologists and Mineralogists (SEPM Special Publication No. 4) pp. 3– 16. Goudie, A. (1990) The Human Impact on the Natural Environment. Oxford: Blackwell, 388 pp. Gribbin, J. (1978) The Climatic Threat, Glasgow: Fontana/ Collins. Hansen, J. and Lebedeff, S. (1987) Global trends of measured surface air temperature. Journal of Geophysical Research 92, 13345–72. Henderson-Sellers, A. (1994) Numerical modelling of global climates. In C.N.Roberts (ed.) The Changing Global Environment, Oxford: Blackwell, pp. 99–124. Houghton, J. (1997) Global Warming—The Complete Briefing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 251 pp. Hulme, M., Zhao, Z.-C. and Jiang, T. (1994) Recent and future climate change in East Asia. International Journal of Climatology 12, 685–90. IPCC (1990) Climate Change: The IPCC Scientific Assessment. Houghton J.T., G.J.Jenkins and J.J.Ephraums (eds). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

IPCC (1995) Climate Change 1994: Radiative Forcing of Climate Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. IPCC WGI (1996) Climate Change 1995: The Science of Climate Change. Contribution of Working Group 1 to the Second Assessment Report of the Intergover nmental Panel on Climate Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. IPCC WGII (1996) Climate Change 1995: Impacts, Adaptations and Mitigation of Climate Change: ScientificTechnical Analyses. Contribution of Working Group 2 to the Second Assessment Report of the Intergover nmental Panel on Climate Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jones, P.D., Raper, S.C.B., Bradley, R.S., Diaz, H.F., Kelly, P.M. and Wigley,T.M.L. (1986a) Northern Hemisphere surface air temperature variations, 1851–1984. Journal of Climate and Applied Meteorology 25, 1213–30. Jones, P.D., Raper, S.C.B., Bradley, R.S., Diaz, H.F., Kelly, P.M. and Wigley,T.M.L. (1986b) Southern Hemisphere surface air temperature variations, 1851–1984. Journal of Climate and Applied Meteorology 25, 161–79. Jones, P. and Hulme, M. (1997) The changing temperature of ‘Central England’. In M.Hulme and E.Barrow (eds) The Climates of the British Isles, London: Routledge, pp. 173–96. Leggett, J. (ed.) (1990) Global Warming The Greenpeace Report, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 554 pp. Manabe, S. and Stouffer, R.J. (1980) Sensitivity of a global climate model to an increase of CO2 concentration in the atmosphere. Journal of Geophysical Research 85, 5529–54. May, R. (1997) Climate Change, A note by the UK Chief Scientific Adviser. London: Office of Science and Technology, September. Meehl, G.A. and Branstator, G.W. (1992) Coupled climate model simulation of El Niño/Southern Oscillation: implications for paleoclimate. In H.F.Diaz, and V.Markgraf (eds) El Niño, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 69–91. Parker, D.E. and Cox, D.I. (1995) Towards a consistent global climatological rawin-sonde data base. International Journal of Climatology 15, 473–96. Smith, T.M. and Shugart, H.H. (1993) The transient response of terrestrial carbon storage to a perturbed climate. Nature 361, 523–6. Tushingham, A.M. and Peltier, W.R. (1991) ICE-3G: a new global model of late Pleistocene deglaciation based upon geophysical predictions of post glacial relative sea level change. Journal of Geophysical Research 96, 4497–523. Untersteiner, N. (1984) The cryosphere. In J. Houghton (ed.) The Global Climate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 121–40.

GLOBAL WARMING Vinnikov, K.Ya., Groisman, P.Ya., Lugina, K.M. and Golubev, A.A. (1987) Var iations in Norther n Hemisphere mean surface air temperature over 1881–1985. Meteorology and Hydrology 1, 45–53(in Russian). Webb, T., III (1986) Is vegetation in equilibrium with climate? How to interpret the late-Quaternary pollen data. Vegetation 67, 75–91.

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Wigley, T.M.L. and Raper, S.C.B. (1993) Future changes in global mean temperature and sea level. In R.A.Warwick, E.M.Barrow and T.M.L.Wigley (eds) Climate and Sea Level: Observations, Projections and Implications. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 111–33. Wigley T.M.L. et al. (1997) Implications of recent CO2 emission limitation proposals for stabilisation of atmospheric concentrations. Nature 390, 267–70.

3 Acid precipitation A.M.Mannion

INTRODUCTION

Precipitation comprises all solid and liquid forms of water that are deposited on the Earth’s surface from the atmosphere. It includes rain, snow, hail, dew and sleet. All forms of precipitation are acid in so far as they have a pH of less than 7; in general, precipitation unaffected by human activity has a pH of 5.6. This naturally acidic state of precipitation is caused by the combination of water and carbon dioxide in the atmosphere to produce carbonic acid. However, the term acid precipitation, or acid rain, is usually applied to precipitation characterised by a pH of less than 5.1 (Elsworth 1984) and that contains sulphurous and nitrous acids.The latter are derived from various sources, among which fossil fuels are the most important. The phenomenon of acid precipitation was first recognised by Robert Angus Smith, a Scottish chemist, in 1852 following a survey of air pollution in Manchester. Smith coined the term ‘acid rain’, which he associated with sulphur dioxide emissions from fossil fuels burned in local factories.Various observers subsequently noted the impact of acid precipitation on aquatic and terrestrial ecosystems. For example, Gorham (1958) noted that the chemistry of upland lakes in the English Lake District was affected by acid precipitation from air masses that had passed over Br itain’s industr ial heartland. Despite this recognition of its impact, acid precipitation did not emerge as a major environmental issue until the late 1960s. By this time, Scandinavian ecologists were becoming concerned about

declining fish stocks; they were also beginning to recognise transboundary transportation of acid precipitation, i.e. the export of acid precipitation from source areas such as the industrial regions of Europe and the UK and its transport to and deposition in far distant areas such as Scandinavia. In this context, acid precipitation became a political as well as an ecological issue.The polluters were unwilling to recognise this, and the polluted demanded mitigation measures. The impact of acid precipitation manifests in many ways. Both terrestrial and aquatic ecosystems may be adversely affected through reductions in pH, which have repercussions for the biota and water quality; human health may be impaired and building materials may be corroded. Internationally agreed measures to curb acid precipitation are now in operation in Europe and North America, where the problem is most acute. The first of these was established in 1979.This was the Convention on Long Range Transboundary Air Pollution (CLRTAP), a protocol that was adopted in 1985 and that became known as the ‘30 percent club’ because of the agreement between its thirty-five members to reduce sulphur emissions by 30 per cent of 1980 levels by 1993. Britain, Poland, Spain and the USA declined to subscribe to the convention, although eventually all succeeded in reducing sulphurous emissions to a degree. Another protocol was signed in 1994 in Oslo to tailor targets to polluters rather than to reassert overall objectives.

ACID PRECIPITATION The measures discussed above have been confined to the Northern Hemisphere, where the impact of acid precipitation has been most intense and most extensive. By c. 1750, industrialisation and the large-scale burning of fossil fuel were occurring, so there have been nearly 250 years of uncontrolled emissions of sulphurous and nitrous acids. The impact has been particularly severe in areas of acid bedrock (such as granite) that are in receipt of air masses from industrialised regions. While measures to curb acid precipitation have facilitated a degree of ecosystem recovery in parts of the temperate zone of the Nor ther n

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Hemisphere, the problem is now spreading into the tropics as developing countries industrialise, especially in Southeast Asia and China. Acid precipitation is thus rapidly becoming an environmental issue of global proportions.

THE NATURE OF THE PROBLEM The chemistry of acid precipitation

Acid precipitation is produced when oxides of sulphur and nitrogen combine with water in the Figure 3.1 The formation (simplified) of the major components of acid rain in the troposphere.

Source: Mannion 1997.

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atmosphere to generate sulphurous and sulphuric acids and nitric and nitrous acids, as shown in Figure 3.1. Although small amounts of these gases are produced naturally through volcanic eruptions, which are fluxes within the natural biogeochemical cycles of nitrogen and sulphur (Figure 3.2), new fluxes between the lithosphere and atmosphere have been created by human activity, notably the combustion of fossil fuels. As Figure 3.2 shows, the anthropogenic influence on these biogeochemical cycles has been considerable (see discussion in Mannion 1997; 1998). For example, fossil fuel combustion fluxes 70–80 Tg yr -1 of sulphur from the lithosphere to the atmosphere, which is ten times as much as the volcanic flux. Biomass burning also accelerates the flux of both sulphur and nitrogen from the biosphere to the atmosphere. Once they have formed in the troposphere (the lower atmosphere), the acids become incorporated into clouds and can produce a pH as low as 2.6. This can have a significant impact on high-altitude ecosystems that experience a low cloud cover or mist for relatively long periods. This is occult deposition. In addition, the entrainment of acids within clouds and air masses means that they can be transported hundreds of kilometres beyond their initial site of production by prevailing winds before they are deposited. This and occult deposition are both forms of wet deposition (Figure 3.3). Alternatively, the dry deposition of oxides of sulphur and nitrogen as gases, aerosols or particulates may take place. This is known as dry deposition (see Figure 3.3) and usually occurs close to the source of nitrous and sulphurous oxide production. Both wet and dry deposition have an environmental impact, the magnitude of which depends on the capacity of the environment to neutralise, or buffer, the acidic precipitation. For example, in areas of alkaline bedrock such as limestone or chalk, soils have a relatively high pH, usually c. 6 to 7.5, and a high cation exchange capacity. They have the capacity to neutralise acidic precipitation because of the presence of substances such as calcium carbonate and magnesium carbonate. Similarly, lakes and rivers

Figure 3.2 The major reservoirs and fluxes in the global biogeochemical cycle of (A) sulphur and (B) nitrogen.

Sources: Based on (A) Charlson et al. (1992) and Schlesinger (1997); (B) Jaffe (1992) and Schlesinger (1997).

in areas of alkaline bedrock are less susceptible to acidification because of the presence of bicarbonate anions (HCO 3-). Areas of acidic bedrock such as granite or those with acidic soils, peats and lakes are particularly susceptible to further acidification because there is little or no buffering capacity. As a result, hydrogen ions (H+) accumulate in the system, while sulphate and nitrate anions (SO42- and NO3-) freely combine with cations such as sodium and potassium to

ACID PRECIPITATION

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Figure 3.3 The processes involved in the formation and deposition of acid pollution.

Source: Based on Mannion 1997.

produce compounds that are readily washed or leached out of the system. With time, soils and peats become progressively impoverished as the cation stock is diminished. The lack of nutrients will limit vegetation growth, leaving soils and peats vulnerable to erosion. In lakes, the accumulation of hydrogen ions reduces pH. This can have direct and indirect impacts in relation to fish stocks; populations and ranges of species diminish with increasing acidification, which reduces their reproductive success. Moreover, fish kills may be caused when surges of acidified water occasioned by cloud bursts or rapid melts of winter snowfall occur.The indirect effects of acid precipitation are due to its impact on other aspects of environmental chemistry. In particular, aluminium is more soluble at low rather than high pH and is, consequently, removed from soils or peats if they are in receipt of acidic precipitation. Drainage from such soils may eventually enter lake basins, where high concentrations of aluminium will adversely affect fish populations. A combination of pH in the

range 5.0–5.5 and high concentrations of aluminium in calcium-deficient water causes physiological changes in fish, particularly in the immature fry, and can cause death. For example, at concentrations of less than 100 µg l-1 the ability of fish to regulate their salt and water content is impaired, and at concentrations above 100 µg l-1 aluminium hydroxide [Al(OH3)] is formed as a gelatinous precipitate on fish gills. Eventually, this causes death through the impair ment of respiration (see Wellburn 1994 for details). According to Gleick (1993), fish do not survive at a pH of less than 3.5; salmonids cannot tolerate pH 3.5 to 4.0, although tench, roach, pike and perch can survive, and even at pH 4.0 to 4.5 adult salmonids are likely to be adversely affected, while their fry and eggs will continue to be impaired at pH 4.5 to 5.6.This pH range is suitable for tench, roach and carp, etc., but only at pH above 5 are there no adverse impacts on fish populations. Aluminium in lake waters may also combine with phosphorus to form chemical complexes, effectively removing phosphorus for uptake by

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primary producers such as algae. Consequently, primary productivity declines and so, in turn, does secondary productivity. In this context, acid precipitation is influencing the biogeochemical cycle of aluminium. It can also affect the nitrogen cycle; as pH declines to less than 5.7, the activity of nitrifying bacteria is curtailed. This causes ammonia, which is usually oxidised to nitrate by these bacteria, to accumulate in the system. Certain groups of algae can then utilise the ammonia in a complex biochemical process that results in the accumulation of additional hydrogen ions and so compounds acidification. The overall impact of acid precipitation in terrestrial and aquatic environments is to reduce biodiversity. It does this by alter ing biogeochemical cycling and generating milieu in which only acidophilous (acid-loving) species can survive. In both ter restr ial and aquatic environments, there may also be an accumulation of organic matter as grazing and decomposer food chains/webs become less active as diversity diminishes. The geography of acid precipitation

Acid precipitation has varied temporally and spatially. Temporally, it began on a large scale in the mid-1700s as industrialisation intensified and spread through Br itain and Europe. In the Northern Hemisphere, the impact and timing of acid precipitation has varied according to the buffering capacity of specific environments as well as the location of industry in relation to prevailing wind directions. Its widespread occurrence at the hemispheric scale is reflected in polar ice core records. Ice cores from the Arctic show a substantial increase in acidity from c. 1800. In addition, the record of nitrous oxide in preindustrial times was c. 275 ppbv (Raynaud et al. 1993) rising to c. 312 ppbv in 1994 (Houghton et al. 1996), although some of this increase is due to biomass burning and nitrate fertiliser use (see Mannion 1998). Further aspects of the temporal dimensions of acid precipitation have been revealed through studies of lake sediments and peats. Such research provides a record of local and

regional pollution histories and is examined below in relation to the UK and the USA. The spatial distribution of acid precipitation depends on where high emissions of nitrous and sulphurous gases occur; the spatial distribution of the acidification of ecosystems also depends on prevailing wind directions and the buffering capacity of soils and bedrock in areas of deposition (see above). Most of the industrialised world lies in the temperate zone of the Nor ther n Hemisphere, so it is here that the problems of acid precipitation and its deposition are most acute. The regions so far identified (Figure 3.4) as those with the most severe problems are Scandinavia, parts of northern Europe and Russia, parts of China, the northeast USA and eastern Canada. Case studies from these regions are discussed below. In part, the problems arise because these areas are themselves major producers and/or receivers of acid precipitation. The data given in Tables 3.1 and 3.2 show that the major producers of sulphurous and nitrous oxides are the USA, China, Germany and the Russian Federation. As industrialisation proceeds in developing countries, and their consumption of fossil fuel increases, acid precipitation and its deposition will become a problem in tropical regions and in the Southern Hemisphere, as shown in Figure 3.4. The introduction of measures to curb sulphurous emissions in Europe and North America in 1985 (the ‘30 percent club’) has brought some rewards. As Table 3.1 shows, sulphurous emissions from many countries have declined. This is due partly to the use of less sulphur-rich fuels, energy efficiency programmes, and to the installation of desulphur isation technology in power stations. There are also calls for positive measures of a similar kind to curb nitrous gas emissions, although in general these have fallen as sulphurous emissions have fallen. International agreements to curb carbon dioxide emission through energy-efficiency programmes will also cause acid emission to decline. The reduction of sulphurous emissions has led to ecosystem recovery in some regions, as is discussed below. Amelioration on a short-term basis has also proved successful. This involves the liming of

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Figure 3.4 Areas currently experiencing problems due to acid precipitation and areas likely to develop problems in the future.

Source: Based on Rodhe and Herrera 1988.

acidified lake ecosystems; however, its impact is short-lived, a product of treating symptoms rather than the underpinning causes. Research has also focused on the identification of areas susceptible to acidification; this has led to the formulation of the ‘critical load’ concept. This is a measure of the amount of acid deposition that can be absorbed by an ecosystem or environment without causing damage. Critical load is the central concept of the Oslo Protocol signed in 1994. Signatories pledged to reduce acidic emissions so as not to exceed critical loads for vulnerable regions. Thus the critical load concept is a management tool and can be used to model future environmental change in response to increased or decreased acid precipitation. The determination of critical load is, however, dependent on information about the volume of acid deposition, the buffering capacity of soils, bedrock, etc., vegetation type, and hydrology. For example, Arp et al. (1996) have used a steady-state mass-balance model for calculating critical sulphur and nitrogen loads in

upland forests of southern Ontario, Canada. This model used data on wet atmospheric deposition of major cations and anions, the availability for plant use of nitrogen, calcium, magnesium and potassium in the rooting spaces of soils, nutrient uptake and retention in the forest biomass, estimates of soil weathering, mean annual air temperature, precipitation, and evaporation. This reflects the many f actors involved in the calculation of critical loads and the importance of environmental monitoring stations to provide the necessary baseline data. One example of such a monitoring network is that of the UK Acid Waters Monitoring Network (AWMN), which was established in 1988 (Patrick et al. 1996). It consists of eleven lake and eleven stream sites in acid-sensitive areas of the UK. The chemical and biolog ical characteristics of these sites are monitored and together with the palaeolimnological record of the lake sediments and data from the UK precipitation monitoring network, they can be used to determine acidification trends. Such data

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Table 3.1 Emissions of sulphurous gases for selected countries.

can also contribute to the establishment of critical loads. The data so far analysed, for 1988– 93, indicate that no regional trends in terms of increasing or decreasing acidification have occurred. It is also recognised that monitoring networks should be established in newly industrialising regions. For example, Yagishita (1995) reports that the Japanese Environment Agency is considering such a network in East Asia; this highlights the need for baseline data before significant acidification occurs and emphasises the international and geographical nature of the problem.

CASE STUDIES The acidification of lakes

This is a serious problem in the Northern Hemisphere, especially in regions of acid bedrock such as parts of Scandinavia, Scotland, southwest Canada, northern Russia and northeast USA (see Figure 3.4). In addition, numerous studies of lake sediments in these regions provide a means of constructing pollution histories, which have also contributed to the establishment of the causes of acidification. Much of this research has been

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Table 3.2 Emissions of nitrous gases for selected countries.

undertaken as part of two major initiatives: the Palaeoecological Investigation of Recent Lake Acidification (PIRLA) in Canada and the USA; and the Surface Waters Acidification Programme (SWAP) in the UK, Norway and Sweden. The results from these projects have revealed the degree and timing of anthropogenic acidification and have shown it to be a serious and widespread problem. Much of the PIRLA and SWAP research exploits the sensitivity of species of diatoms (unicellular algae that are the basis of food chains in many freshwater and marine environments) to

pH and their widespread occurrence in lake sediments. The pH tolerances of the species recovered as fossils from lake sediments are known from studies of their living equivalents; thus the construction of lake acidification histories is possible based on diatom-infer red pH reconstructions. Acidification has not only influenced primary producers such as the diatoms but has also affected the species composition of other organisms at all trophic levels. The remains of some of these organisms, such as cladocera (microscopic animals occurring in fresh water) and chrysophytes (planktonic algae with an outer

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covering of scales composed of silica: cysts may also be present in the sediments) have also been used to derive lake pollution histories, along with carbonaceous particles (e.g. soot, charcoal) and the stratigraphic record of heavy metal (e.g. zinc, copper, manganese and iron) deposition. Table 3.3 gives the results from many of the SWAP and PIRLA sites investigated. It shows that many lakes have become acidified by at least one pH unit. As pH is measured on a logarithmic scale, a decline of one pH unit represents a tenfold increase in hydrogen ion concentration. In the UK, Loch Grannoch in southwest Scotland has been one of the worst affected lakes with a decline in pH of 1.2, although Lake Gårdsjön in Sweden, with a pH decline of 1.5, has been even more severely affected. pH declines of a similar magnitude have been recorded in northeastern USA and Canada. Age estimation of the sediments of these lakes has allowed the timing of acidification to be determined. As Table 3.3 shows,

this has varied from site to site. In the Scottish lakes, for example, the varied timing reflects, to a certain extent, the degree of buffering within each catchment. Moreover, most acidification occurred before any afforestation, another factor often associated with freshwater acidification, took place. Numerous similar studies have been undertaken elsewhere (e.g. Austria, Germany and Russia) and the record is similar. An example is given in Box 3.1. Where emissions of acidic gases have declined, either through the recession of heavy industries or through emission controls, there is some evidence that ecosystem recovery is occurring. For example, Battarbee (1994) reports that the diatom communities in several Scottish lochs are changing in composition as acidic emissions decrease, which, in turn, causes less acidification in lake catchments and waters. Similarly, in eastern Canada, Gunn and Keller (1990) have shown that many lakes in

Table 3.3 Examples of changes in the pH of lake waters that have occurred since c. 1840 in the UK, Europe and North America

Note: This is only a selection of the many lakes which are known to have become acidified since c. 1840.

ACID PRECIPITATION Box 3.1 The reconstruction of lake pH using diatom analysis 1 Diatoms are unicellular algae that are abundant in most aquatic environments. They form the basis of food chains/webs and many species are particularly sensitive to water pH. 2 The frustules, which are the structural component of diatoms, are composed of silica, which is resistant to decay. Consequently, these frustules become incor porated into lake sediments when the organisms die. As sediments accumulate, a sample of the diatom population is preserved. Changes in the assemblages reflect, among other factors, changes in pH. On the basis of the pH sensitivities of their modern counterparts, the fossil diatoms provide a means of reconstructing the pH history of the lake waters. 3 This has been undertaken for many lakes in acidsensitive areas, data from some of which are given in Table 3.3. The detailed pH reconstruction of one of those lakes, Round Loch of Glenhead (Battarbee et al. 1988) is illustrated below:

the reg ion have lower concentrations of aluminium, heavy metals and sulphate and higher pH than they did in the 1970s; in some cases, trout have even been re-established. Moreover, where liming of lakes or catchment soils has been undertaken, rapid improvement in pH can occur. This is illustrated by the work of Blette and Newton (1996) on Woods Lake in the Adirondack Mountains of the northeast USA and by the work of Dixit et al. (1996) on the Aurora trout lakes of Sudbury, Canada. In the latter, water quality in two lakes was improved to such an extent that aurora trout were reintroduced in 1990. However, liming

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is only a short-term solution because it treats symptoms rather than underlying causes. What is perhaps of equal concern to the problem of acid precipitation itself is the likelihood of additional affects caused by global warming, as Wright and Schindler (1995) have discussed. They suggest that increases in temperature predicted by general circulation models (GCMs) for the boreal zone could cause increased mineralisation of nitrogen and the oxidation of organic compounds, including those containing sulphur. Thus, despite emission reductions, acidification would continue; the acids produced through mineralisation would continue to mobilise aluminium. Numerous factors may also conspire to allow the penetration of radiation, including the harmful ultraviolet-B (UV-B), to greater than usual depths, where it may have adverse ecological impacts (see discussion in Schindler et al. 1996). In addition, it has recently been suggested that declines in dust production, especially that containing bases (e.g. calcium carbonate and magnesium carbonate), may negate the impact of emission controls (Hedin and Likens 1996). The lack of such bases in the atmosphere, due to legislation on air quality, seems likely to cause a decline in neutralisation between acidic and basic components.Thus, despite curbs on acid emissions their environmental impact may be intensified. These issues reflect the complex interplay between numerous biogeochemical cycles and between different forms of pollution. The impact of acid precipitation on terrestrial ecosystems: forests and peatlands

The impact of acid precipitation on terrestrial ecosystems occurs directly and indirectly. The direct effect involves wet and/or dry and occult deposition on vegetation, which may impair its capacity for photosynthesis and cause a loss of biodiversity as only those least acid-sensitive species survive. Indirect effects are caused by the influence that acid precipitation has on soils, especially on their chemistry and microbiology. Moreover, and as suggested above, other forms of pollution such as ozone accumulation in the

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troposphere and global warming may interact with acid precipitation to cause ecosystem damage. The deposition of nitrous and sulphurous acids increases the hydrogen ion content of the soil and causes declines in essential plant nutrients (see Part II); as microbial activity decreases, fungi dominate the decomposer system. Populations of earthworms and other soil fauna are reduced, which limits soil mixing, drainage and aeration.The loss of bases and other essential nutrients also impairs vegetation growth. This is illustrated by Likens et al. (1996), who have monitored soil and water chemistry in the Hubbard Brook Experimental Forest ecosystem, New Hampshire, USA, over many years. There have been substantial declines in total soil calcium and magnesium; this may impair ecosystem recovery as acid emissions decrease. A decline in soil calcium and magnesium is also considered to be a major cause of forest decline in the Kola Peninsula of Russia, where the major emitter of acid precipitation is a nickel smelter (Koptsik and Mukhina 1995). All of these factors and possibly others may be responsible for what is recognised as a substantial decline in forest health in Europe and elsewhere. The case of European forest damage is discussed in Box 3.2 and a detailed study of forest cover change in the Czech Republic is detailed in Ardö et al. (1997). Most peatlands are naturally acid and thus offer little buffer ing capacity to acid precipitation. Moreover, where they are in the immediate hinterland of heavily industrialised areas, ecological damage can be considerable.This is exemplified by blanket peats in the Pennines of the UK. According to Lee’s (1998) review, the area of peatland between Manchester and Sheffield received considerable quantities of sulphur dioxide from these major industrial centres during the 1800s and early 1900s (prior to control measures on particulate emissions in the 1950s). The impact of this contamination involved a loss of biodiversity, notably of Sphagnum species; these bog-forming mosses are particularly susceptible to pollutants because they rely heavily on atmospheric deposition for their

Box 3.2 Forest damage in Europe 1 Acid precipitation is a major contributory cause of forest damage in Europe. 2 Other factors include drought, although drought occurrence may have a greater impact in aciddamaged areas, e.g. southern Poland, than in areas where there is little such damage. 3 The impact of acid precipitation on forest soils is likely to influence the degree of forest damage. Cations, essential nutrients such as magnesium and calcium, may be removed from the ecosystem, while heavy metals, which are also deposited in acid precipitation, may have a toxic effect. 4 Not only is the forest canopy damaged but ground flora may also be altered, with a shift towards acidophilous species such as heather. 5 The distribution of forest damage in Europe is given in the map below. This shows that the greatest damage has occurred in Eastern and Central Europe, with least damage in western maritime regions.

Source: Based on Elvingson 1997.

nutr ient supply. Where species are lost and peatlands become increasingly acidic, erosion may set in as the surfaces lose their protective vegetation cover. The impact of acid precipitation on urban fabrics, urban air quality and archaeological monuments

Acid emissions do not discriminate between rural and urban environments. Indeed, emissions in

ACID PRECIPITATION cities can be particularly high because of intense motor traffic. The impairment, in effect a form of weathering, of important urban buildings and monuments is apparent in many of the world’s major cities. Building materials such as marble, limestone and sandstone may be adversely affected, and so too may metals. All suffer corrosion, which disfigures the detail of architectural design, which is costly to restore. According to McCormick (1997), c. 2.5 cm of the Portland stone on St Paul’s Cathedral in London has been removed, although the mechanical action of weather has also played a role in this. Similar problems have occurred in Stockholm, Sweden, where damage has defaced the Royal Palace and the Riddarholm church.The calcitic Gotland sandstone, of which both were constructed in the eighteenth century, shows evidence of crumbling and decay. This takes the form of a crumbly, loose surface, gypsum and other salt formation and discolouration. There are also serious concerns about the condition of many ancient monuments in modern urban centres, as in Athens, Greece, including the Parthenon on the Acropolis. These have been constructed from limestone and are thus susceptible to dissolution as the alkaline limestone neutralises the acidic emissions. Ancient monuments elsewhere have also been defaced by acid rain, as Wilford (1996) reports in relation to the Mayan ruins in Central America and in the Yucatán peninsula of Mexico. The source of the acid precipitation is oil refineries and uncapped oil wells in the region, with an additional contribution from tourist buses. Plate 3.1 shows the damaged detail of the ‘Nunnery’ at Uxmal, Mexico. The high concentrations of sulphur dioxide in many former Soviet cities must also be a cause of considerable damage to the urban fabric. For example, Shahgedanova and Burt (1994) report that in 1988 sulphur dioxide emissions exceeded 1000 tonnes per year in twenty-seven towns/ cities. In Noril’sk, in Siberia’s Taimyr peninsula, emissions were c. 2.2×10 6 tonnes, which amounted to 12.4 tonnes per capita; the major source is the copper-nickel smelters of the Noril’sk Mining and Metallurgical Combine.The

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Plate 3.1 Damage due to acid precipitation on the ‘Nunnery’, part of the Mayan complex at Uxmal, Mexico (photograph: Dr M.D.Turnbull).

resulting damage to hinterland forests has increased substantially since 1970, but urban fabrics and human health will not have been spared by such acute levels of pollution. As in the case of lake and terrestrial ecosystems, remedial measures must involve the diminution of emissions through increased energy efficiency in buildings and transpor t systems, and less dependency on the car. The impact of acid precipitation on human health

Air quality is recognised as an important factor in human health, especially in relation to respiratory diseases. However, acid precipitation may have additional though indirect effects on human health through its impact on soils and water resources. In particular, heavy metals may be

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released from soils due to acidification; they may then enter aquatic food chains and eventually reach humans. Respiratory problems caused by poor air quality are the most common diseases to which acid precipitation contributes. McCormick (1997) records the number of deaths caused by serious smogs in the industrialised world pre-1965; among the worst were those in London in 1873 and 1880, which together caused 2500 deaths. These were extreme events linked to industrialisation and little or no air quality control. The old, the young and those suffering respiratory disease were especially vulnerable. Today, such events are characteristic of the newly industrialising countries. Moreover, these were extreme events with an obvious cause and effect. In the developed world, urban air quality may still be poor (see the example of Noril’sk, Siberia, in the previous section) due to gaseous rather than particulate emissions. As McCormick points out, health problems may ensue from regular exposure to air that is characterised by low-level pollution. Although the relationship between air pollution and respiratory problems has eluded precise definition, the huge increase in such problems, especially asthma, reflects the at least partial influence of air quality, although other factors may also contribute. McCormick (p. 32) states ‘the World Health Organisation estimates that in Europe alone, excessive levels of sulphur dioxide may be responsible for 6000 to 13000 extra deaths every year among people aged 65 or older, intensified chronic respiratory problems for 89000 to 203000 people and 58000 to 99000 extra cases of diseases in the lower respiratory organs among children.’ The potential for health problems due to the indirect effect of acid precipitation has been discussed by Oskarsson et al. (1996). They were particularly concerned with the possible impact of toxic elements such as lead, copper zinc, cadmium, methylmercury and selenium.The latter may become scarce under acidified conditions and cause health problems because of its scarcity; the other metals may cause problems because their mobility is increased under acid conditions, and consequently they enter food chains and webs in

increased proportions. In addition, acidic water will cause increased extraction of metals such as lead from domestic plumbing. Oskarsson et al. were unable to find unequivocal relationships between health problems due to metal contamination and acidification, although they identified a number of possible links.They suggest that safety margins are small in relation to the exposure of humans to toxic metals and that curbs on acid precipitation are essential before damage to human health becomes apparent.

CONCLUSION

Acid precipitation is a product of the industrial age and represents anthropogenic perturbations to the sulphur and nitrogen cycles. So serious have its consequences been that they have prompted international agreements, with the initial concerted efforts to curb emissions of nitrous and sulphurous gases beginning in 1985. This was one of the first international agreements to tackle a pollution problem, pre-dating the Montreal Protocol on ozone by two years. The effectiveness of the 1985 and later protocols is manifest in many parts of the industrialised world as lake and stream water quality has improved. In some instances, fish populations have been restored. Despite these improvements, acid precipitation remains a significant agent of environmental change in the Norther n Hemisphere, and further curbs on emissions, especially nitrous emissions, are necessary. Moreover, the problem of acidification is spreading as many developing countries are industrialising rapidly.Acid precipitation is thus set to become a global problem. The chemistr y of acid precipitation is understood in relation to its production, although once it is deposited its reactions with organic and inorganic substances in soils and water are complex. It influences many other biogeochemical cycles, especially those of the heavy metals, raised concentrations of which may cause further ecosystem change. The most severely affected regions are those on acid bedrock that are either close to emission sources or that receive air masses from industrial centres. Lakes, streams, soils, forests

ACID PRECIPITATION and other vegetation communities may all be damaged by acid precipitation. Society also pays its dues for the wealth generated through the combustion of fossil fuels and industrialisation; the very fabric of urban centres may be disfigured, and there are increased risks to human health through poor air quality. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of acid precipitation is its interaction with other environmental problems such as global warming and the as yet unknown reactions and ramifications that will emanate from this relationship. Again, the underpinning mechanisms involve an array of biogeochemical cycles. Who knows where it all may lead? Physical geographers and other applied scientists have a major role to play in finding answers to such questions through their research on environmental processes.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

McCormick, J. (1997) Acid Earth, (3rd edition). Earthscan: London. A valuable introduction that provides a good overview of the problem from the chemistry to the politics. Wellburn, A. (1994) Air Pollution and Acid Rain. The Biological Impact, (2nd edition). Longman: Harlow. A scientific treatment of air pollution with emphasis on its impact on ecosystems and organisms. Acid News is a newsletter from the Swedish NGO Secretariat on Acid Rain. It is published by the Swedish Society for Nature Conservation and is available free of charge from the Swedish NGO Secretariat on Acid Rain, Box 7005, S-402 31 Göteborg, Sweden.

REFERENCES Ågren, C. (1997) Monitoring figures show decline. Acid News 4–5, 16–17. Ardö, J., Lambert, N., Henzlik, V. and Rock, B.N. (1997) Satellite-based estimations of coniferous forest cover changes: Krusné Hory, Czech Republic 1972–1989. Ambio 26, 158–166.

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Arp, P.A., Oja,T. and Marsh, M. (1996) Calculating critical S and N loads and current exceedance for upland forests in southern Ontario, Canada. Canadian Journal of Forest Research 26, 696–709. Battarbee, R.W. (1994) Diatoms, lake acidification and the Surface Water Acidification Program (SWAP)— a review. Hydrobiologia 274, 1–7. Battarbee, R.W., Flower, R.J., Stevenson, A.C., Jones, V.J., Harriman, R. and Appleby, P.G. (1988) Diatom and chemical evidence for reversibility of acidification of Scottish lochs. Nature 332, 530–2. Blette, V.L. and Newton, R.M. (1996) Application of the integrated lake watershed acidification study model to watershed liming in Woods Lake, New York. Biogeochemistry 32, 363–83. Charles, D.F. and Smol, J.P. (1994) Long-term chemical changes in lakes—quantitative inferences from biotic remains in the sediment record. Advances in Chemistry Series 237, 321. Charlson, R.J., Anderson, T.L. and McDuff, R.E. (1992) The sulfur cycle. In S.S.Butcher, R.J. Charlson, G.H.Orions and G.V.Wolfe (eds) Global Biogeochemical Cycles, London:Academic Press, 285–300. Dixit,A.S., Dixit, S.S. and Smol, J.P. (1996) Long-term trends in limnological characteristics in the Aurora trout lakes, Sudbury, Canada. Hydrobiologia 335, 171–81. Elsworth, S. (1984) Acid Rain. Earthscan: London. Elvingson, P. (1997) Still many trees damaged. Acid News 4–5, 14–15. Gleick, P.H. (ed.) (1993) Water in Crisis: A Guide to the World’s Freshwater Resources. Oxford University Press: Oxford. Gorham, E. (1958) The influence and importance of daily weather conditions in the supply of chloride, sulphate and other ions to freshwaters from atmospheric precipitation. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London B241, 147–78. Gunn, J.M. and Keller,W. (1990) Biological recovery of an acid lake after reductions in industrial emissions of sulphur. Nature 345, 431–3. Hedin, L.O. and Likens, G.E. (1996) Atmospheric dust and acid rain. Scientific America 275, 56–60. Houghton, J.T., Meira Filho, L.G., Callander, B.A., Harris, N., Kattenberg, A. and Maskell, K. (eds) (1996) Climate Change 1995.The Science of Climate Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jaffe, D.A. (1992) The nitrogen cycle. In S.S.Butcher, R.J.Charlson, G.H.Orions and G.V.Wolf (eds) Global Biogeochemical Cycles, London: Academic Press, 263–84. Kato, N. (1996) Analysis of structure of energy consumption and dynamics of emission of atmospheric

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species related to the global environmental change (SOx, NOx and CO2) in Asia. Atmospheric Environment 30, 757–85. Koptsik, G. and Mukhina, J. (1995) Effects of acid deposition on acidity and exchangeable cations in podzols of the Kola Peninsula. Water Air and Soil Pollution 85, 1209–14. Lee, J.A. (1998) Unintentional experiments with terrestrial ecosystems: ecological effects of sulphur and nitrogen pollutants. Journal of Ecology 86, 1–12. Likens, G.E., Driscoll, C.T. and Buso, D.C. (1996) Longterm effects of acid rain: response and recovery of a forest ecosystem. Science 272, 244–6. Mannion, A.M. (1997) Global Environmental Change. A Natural and Cultural Environmental History, (2nd edition). Harlow: Longman. Mannion, A.M. (1998) Global environmental change: the causes and consequences of disruption to biogeochemical cycles. Geographical Journal (164, 162– 82). McCormick, J. (1997) Acid Earth. The Politics of Acid Pollution, (3rd edition). London: Earthscan. Oskarsson, A., Nordberg, G., Block, M., Rasmussen, F., Petterson, R., Skerfring, S., Vahter, M., Glynn, A.G., Öborn, I., Helkensten, M.-L. and Thuvander, A. (1996) Adverse health effects due to soil and water acidification: a Swedish research program. Ambio 25, 527–31. Patrick, S., Battarbee, R.W. and Jenkins, A. (1996) Monitoring acid waters in the UK: an overview of the UK Acid Waters Monitoring Network and summary

of the first interpretative exercise. Freshwater Biology 36, 131–50. Raynaud, D., Jouzel, J., Barnola, J.M., Chapellaz, J., Delmas, R.J. and Lorius, C. (1993) The ice core record of greenhouse gases. Science 259, 926–34. Rodhe, H. and Herrera, R. (eds) (1988) Acidification in Tropical Countries. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons. Schindler, D.W., Jefferson Curts, P., Parker, B.R. and Stainton, M.P. (1996) Consequences of climate warming and lake acidification for UV-B penetration in North American boreal lakes. Nature 379, 705–8. Schlesinger, W.H. (1997) Biogeochemistry: An Analysis of Global Change. San Diego: Academic Press. Shahgedanova, M. and Burt, T.P. (1994) New data on air pollution in the for mer Soviet Union. Global Environmental Change 4, 201–27. Wellburn, A. (1994) Air Pollution and Climate Change: The Biological Impact, (2nd edition). Harlow: Longman. Wilford, J.N. (1996) Saving the pyramids: acid rain accelerates the destruction of the Maya ruins in Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula and Central America: www.stevensonpress.com/acidrain.html accessed 20 April 1998. Wright, R.F. and Schindler, D.W. (1995) Interaction of acid rain and global changes—effects on terrestrial and aquatic ecosystems. Water Air and Soil Pollution 85, 89–99. Yagishita, M. (1995) Establishing an acid deposition monitoring network in East Asia. Water Air and Soil Pollution 85, 273–8.

4 Extreme weather events Rory Walsh

INTRODUCTION

Extreme weather events and the weather-related events they may induce, such as landslides, floods and storm surges, form an important part of what have been termed ‘natural hazards’. They have a major influence not only on the physical landscapes and human societies directly affected by them but also on the wider community through their impact on the insurance industry and the costs of emergency aid or relief. It is increasingly being recognised that their distribution in time and space is dynamic rather than static and significant changes in the frequency of extremes such as heavy daily rainfalls, droughts, extreme heat and cold and tropical cyclones are envisaged in ‘global warming’ predictions for the next century (IPCC 1996; United Kingdom Climate Change Impacts Review Group 1996; Hulme and Viner 1998). This chapter reviews the roles that geographers have played in examining the climatology of extreme events, their spatial and temporal distribution (including past, current and future changes), their impacts on natural systems and human activities, and the design and effectiveness of strategies aimed at reducing their adverse effects. With particular reference to geographical research on tropical cyclones, it highlights the problems that stem from their inherent rarity, which reduces the sample size upon which to base conclusions and advice, the mismatch between the spatial scale at which one can offer reliable advice and the spatial scale most useful for planning purposes, and the implications

and uncertainties associated with recent and predicted future changes in extreme event frequency.

EXTREME WEATHER EVENTS: THE PROBLEMS THEY PRESENT AND THE ROLES PLAYED BY GEOGRAPHERS

Extreme weather events can be divided into absolute and relative event types (Figure 4.1). Absolute extreme events are considered extreme simply because of their magnitude and nature. Thus tropical cyclones, tornadoes, hailstorms and climate-related events such as avalanches, landslides and floods are considered extreme events, even in areas where they are frequent. Relative extreme events, on the other hand, are considered extreme on the basis of their rarity at the location concerned; they are distinguished from nor mal events on the basis of their probability of occurrence (Smith 1997) and its inverse, the return period or recurrence interval, which is the average time interval between events of a specified magnitude. If one views events as being statistically distributed around a long-term mean value, then most events lie relatively close to the mean within what Smith terms the socioeconomic band of tolerance and can be interpreted as resources, as they constitute the near-normal events on which human activities in that climate are based. Weather extremes such as unusual cold, warmth, drought or wetness are measured relative to (and hence are specific to) the

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NATURAL AND ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARDS Figure 4.1 A classification of extreme weather and weather-related events.

Source: Based in part on Smith 1997.

local climate; what constitutes an unusual drought, for example, will therefore vary with location. Extreme events, whether relative or absolute, are viewed as climatic hazards if they impose negative stress on human activities and are considered disasters if they cause either considerable loss of life or major economic losses (ibid.). Extreme weather events present several distinct problems in their analysis. First, since by definition many of the events are rare, sample sizes upon which to base calculations and maps of hazard risk are small and become progressively smaller the more extreme the event.This reduces the statistical significance and hence the reliability and utility for planning purposes of hazard analysis and hinders the detection and prediction of changes in the extreme event magnitude-frequency with climatic change. Second, many extreme weather events tend to be (1) spatially localised in nature and impact and (2) variable in size and severity, thus complicating generalisations about their impacts. Third, some present great problems in forecasting either their occurrence and location (as with tornadoes and hailstorms) or their precise track (as with tropical cyclones). Fourth, impacts on landscapes and societies vary not only with event characteristics but also with numerous

human variables, such as land use, the level of income and degree of organisation of societies and individuals, the nature of the society, the accuracy and timeliness of forecasting, warning and evacuation systems, and the time since a previous event (and hence the society’s preparedness). The design and appropriateness of hazard impact reduction and mitigation strategies will also vary considerably with the nature of the society. Geographer s have provided spatial and temporal perspectives and analytical techniques in quantifying and mapping weather hazards and in assessing changes in risk through time, with increasing use being made of GIS and remotesensing techniques. For example, in relation to avalanches in the Alps, Gruber and Haefner (1995) used Landsat Thematic Mapper remote-sensing data and a digital elevation model to develop a methodology to produce more reliable avalanche hazard maps for planning purposes and to provide an improved insight into the interactions of forest, snow and avalanche risk in the Alpine landscape. The findings of Graves and Bresnock (1985) question the wisdom of the traditional return period/probability approach to assessment of extreme events, in which weather hazards are often assumed to be randomly distributed in time

EXTREME WEATHER EVENTS with events occurring independently of each other. In the United States, using hail data for a twenty-one-year period at twenty locations and tornado occurrence data for 1916–80, they demonstrated that both hazards were more likely to occur in a particular year if they had been experienced in the previous year.They argued that if the same holds true for a hazard such as early or late frost, then rotating crops to plant a frostresistant crop in any year following early or late frost damage would save millions of dollars of crop damage. In drought studies, in addition to the considerable research on drought impacts and human response, particularly in the Sahel (e.g. Tr ilsbach and Hulme 1984; Hulme 1986; Trilsbach 1987;Walsh et al. 1988), one of the most useful contributions of geography has been in developing definitions of droughts and dry periods that are relevant to particular societies or specific physical or human issues. Thus Hulme (1987), in defining wet season length and character, attempted to incorporate farmers’ perception and decision making on crop planting dates into his analysis of the impact of extreme drought in semi-arid central Sudan and the response of the rural water supply system. In rain forest environments, where much shorter and less intense per iods of low rainfall constitute ‘drought’, Walsh (1996a) used archival rainfall records and definitions of drought specifically geared to tropical rain forest transpirational demand in identifying changes in drought magnitude frequency in Sabah (Borneo) over the past 120 years and exploring their implications for rain forest dynamics. Relatively few studies have investigated changes in heavy rainstorm frequency. An early study by Howe et al. (1967) linked an increase in flood frequency in the Rivers Wye and Severn since the 1920s to an increase in heavy rainstorm frequency in central Wales. Later work demonstrated an increase in heavy rainstorm frequency since 1925 to be widespread in south Wales and linked to a parallel increase in flood frequency of the Rivers Tawe and Ebbw (Walsh et al. 1982). The United Kingdom Climate Change Impacts Review

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Group (1996), which includes geographers on its panel, used the simulated daily rainfall data outputs of the UKTR model to suggest that return periods of heavy daily rainfalls in the twenty-first century will shorten significantly in summer in the north and in winter throughout the United Kingdom and pointed to the consequences for flooding and soil erosion. Boardman et al. (1996) found that soil erosion resulting from a (currently) 1000-year return period rainstorm in which up to 128.7 mm fell over parts of Berkshire and Oxfordshire in central England on 26 May 1993 was particularly severe on fields with springplanted crops, averaging 66 m3 ha-1 on a maize field. They warned that the current trend towards spring-planted (rather than winter-planted) crops would increase the erosional risk of any increase in large rainstorm frequency. In the tropics a marked reduction in heavy rainstorm frequency has accompanied the drought epoch since 1965 in the Sudan and has been linked to a decline in wadi flows, shallow groundwater recharge and rural water supply (Hulme 1986; Walsh et al. 1988), and a decline not only in flood frequency but also in human perception of flood hazards, resulting in large-scale flooding of poorly located squatter settlements of recent migrants in Khartoum and Omdurman in the exceptional rainstorm of August 1988 (Walsh et al. 1994). In the eastern Caribbean, significant increases in the return periods of large daily rainstorms have marked the two dry epochs of 1899–1928 and since 1959 compared with the wetter late nineteenth century and 1929–58 periods (Walsh 1998). Finally, geog raphers involved in multidisciplinary teams assessing global warming and its impacts have been paying increased attention to formulating scenarios regarding changing frequencies and impacts of weather extremes (IPCC 1996; United Kingdom Impacts Review Group 1996; Hulme and Viner 1998) and Parry and Carter (1997) have incorporated extreme event considerations in their manual on climate impact and adaptation assessment.

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CASE EXAMPLES OF GEOGRAPHICAL RESEARCH ON TROPICAL CYCLONES AND THEIR IMPACT

Tropical cyclones, which can be defined as closedcirculation, warm-cored, low-pressure systems with maximum sustained surface wind speeds (1minute mean) of at least 39 mph, are conventionally divided into two intensity classes: tropical storms (with maximum winds of 39–73 mph) and hurricanes (with maximum winds of at least 74 mph). Hurricanes have been subdivided into five potential damage classes depending on their maximum wind speed, minimum central pressure and storm surge magnitude in what is termed the Saffir-Simpson damage potential scale (Table 4.1) (Simpson and Riehl 1981). Although most work on cyclones has been accomplished by meteorologists, particularly in the United States, geographers have contributed to cyclone research in four principal ways. The assessment of spatial distribution of the cyclone hazard

Three data problems bedevil objective assessments of the cyclone hazard. First, cyclones vary in intensity and size both between cyclones and

during the life-cycle of a single cyclone. The second concerns the varying spatial scales (in terms of size of areal unit) at which cyclone frequency or impacts can be studied and their appropriateness for different purposes. The third problem is that of the increasingly incomplete, imprecise and unreliable data on cyclone occurrences, tracks and characteristics as one goes back into the past; coverage over ocean areas has only become more or less complete during the last three decades with the advent of satellite imager y, thus raising problems about the meaningfulness of many earlier maps of cyclone frequency and assessments of changes in regional cyclone frequency. Geographers have made some significant contributions in designing analytical strategies to accommodate or overcome these problems. Several geographers have mapped aspects of the spatial distribution of cyclone frequency within macro-regions by adopting a gr id-square approach. For example, McGregor (1995) assessed spatial aspects of the cyclone hazard and interannual variations in cyclone activity in the China Sea by constructing and analysing a 2°×2° grid-square database of six-hourly tropical cyclone position data over the period 1970–89 for the area 105–125° E, 5–27° N. The approach led to maps

Table 4.1 Classification of tropical cyclones with hurricane classes based on the Saffir-Simpson damage potential scale.

Source: After Simpson and Riehl 1981. Notes: *100 mph=160.9 kph=86.88 knots. ** For details of damage associated with each class, see Simpson and Riehl 1981: pp. 366–8.

EXTREME WEATHER EVENTS

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Figure 4.2 Maps of the cyclone hazard in the South China Sea area: (A) percentage chance of a cyclone entering the China Sea affecting different 2×2 degree grid squares; (B) the size of reduction in cyclone frequency (six-hour periods per year) in an ENSO year for 2×2 degree grid squares in the China Sea area.

Source: After McGregor 1995.

of the percentage probability that any tropical cyclone entering the South China Sea would pass through any given square (Figure 4.2A). A WNW—ESE oriented zone of peak probability was identified stretching from Hainan, Guangdong and Hong Kong in southern China to central Luzon in the Phillipines. The study also demonstrated how cyclone activity in the region was greatly reduced in all ENSO years during the period (Figure 4.2B), a pattern also found in the Caribbean (Eyre and Gray 1990; Gray and Sheaffer 1991). Spatiotemporal changes in cyclone magnitude and frequency

Several geographical studies have examined recent or historical changes in the frequency and tracks of cyclones and assessed the question of whether or not global warming, via higher sea-surface temperatures, will result in increased cyclone frequency or severity, as some climatologists and

climatic modellers have suggested (e.g. Emanuel 1987). To overcome the problem of increasingly incomplete records back through time, analyses have been restr icted to those parts of a macroreg ion with longer per iods of comprehensive data. Figure 4.3 updates to 1995 analyses carried out by several geographers of cyclone frequency for a 5°×5° grid-square matrix covering the western part of the North Atlantic/ Caribbean macroregion using US Weather Bureau charts of cyclone tracks since 1871 (Spencer and Douglas 1985; Walsh and Reading 1991; Reading and Walsh 1995). Regional cyclone frequency was high in 1871–1901 and in 1928–58 but low in 1902–27 and from 1959 to the 1990s, but the spatial distributions of activity in the two peaks and the two troughs differed markedly. Temporal fluctuations varied greatly between different 5° squares (Figure 4.4). Along the Texan coast, cyclone frequency peaked in the late nineteenth century, whereas in Florida and the northern Lesser Antilles frequencies peaked in 1928–58. In

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Figure 4.3 Differences in cyclone frequency in the West Indies grid region for four periods during 1871–1995.

Source: Updated version of Reading and Walsh 1995.

Jamaica, peak frequency was actually recorded around 1910, at a time when regional frequency was very low, and cyclone frequency in the southern Lesser Antilles has fallen little in recent years compared with the dramatic declines in Florida, the northern Lesser Antilles and Jamaica.

By focusing on individual land areas in the Car ibbean and using a combination of documentary records and several existing chronologies of hurricanes, it also proved possible to examine cyclone frequency changes back to the seventeenth century (Walsh and Reading 1991; Reading and Walsh 1995;Walsh 1998). In the case of the Lesser Antilles, it was demonstrated that cyclone frequency was also high in parts of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, but much lower than in the twentieth century in 1650–1764, 1794–1805 and 1838–75 (Figure 4.5). What the study also showed, however, was how trends at the island sub-group scale differ both from each other and from the regional pattern. Peak frequency in the Windward Islands occurred in 1876–1901, whereas in the Leeward Islands it occurred in 1765–93 and in the French Islands/ Dominica in 1765–93 and 1806–37. The study also demonstrated that changes in frequency cannot be explained solely by changes in seasurface temperature but appear to be linked more to shifts in key elements of the general circulation and associated changes in the frequency and spatial distribution of low vertical wind shear identified by Gray (1968; 1988) as essential for cyclone development. Eyre and Gray (1990) examined trends since 1962 in cyclone frequency (as indexed by the number of cyclone-hours) in 5°×5° degree grids covering three areas: the Caribbean/ Atlantic, the eastern Pacific and the southwest Pacific, finding no evidence of any increase in each case (Table 4.2). They also found no evidence of an increase in the intensity or severity of cyclones, a finding since confirmed for the North Atlantic/Caribbean by Landsea (1993). However, other studies by geographers have pointed to recent localised increases in cyclone frequency. Thus Spencer (1994) has reported that cyclones affecting Fiji in the South Pacific have increased from 3.1 per decade in 1941–80 to 11.4 per decade in the 1980s; and Nunn (1990a, b) has reported increased cyclone activity in the Tuvalu, Solomon Islands and Vanuatu areas of the South Pacific. Some of the local increases may reflect

EXTREME WEATHER EVENTS

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Figure 4.4 Ten-year running means of cyclone frequency for selected 5°×5° squares in the Caribbean, 1871–1995, and the entire West Indies grid region.

Note: For locations of squares see Figure 4.3.

an increased frequency of very strong ENSO events, as Spencer (1994) reported six cyclones in just five months during the 1982–3 ENSO in a part of French Polynesia that had not been affected by cyclones since 1906. Whether the very high frequency of cyclones in 1995 (Walsh 1998) and in 1998 in the North Atlantic heralds a global war ming upturn remains an open question. Analysing cyclone impacts and ways of mitigating their effects

Cyclone damage is brought about by wind, waves, storm surge (and associated coastal inundation) and heavy rain (which can also lead to landslides

and river flooding). The impacts of a cyclone vary with cyclone characteristics (its intensity, size and path in relation to the area affected), the landscape it encounters (topography, vegetation and land use, quality of building stock, etc.), the effectiveness of hurricane warnings, the economic and social character of the population, and not least the previous hurricane experience of the population and landscape. In lowland areas, the main threat to life is the storm surge, but in mountainous landscapes, most danger stems from landslides and river floods, as was the case with Hurricane George in the Dominican Republic and Hurricane Mitch in Nicaragua and Honduras in 1998. A fundamental geographical principle of cyclone damage (both physical and human) is that

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Figure 4.5 Changes in cyclone frequency for the Lesser Antilles and its island sub-groups, 1650–1995 (updated to include the 1990s, after Walsh 1998).

it tends to be zoned, decreasing with increasing distance from the path of the eye of the cyclone (Box 4.1). The pr inciple of the protective (and landbuilding) role of mangroves (Box 4.1) formed a cornerstone of plans in the 1980s to help to protect the coastline of the deltas of the Ganges and Brahmaputra in Bangladesh (Stoddart and Pethick 1984; Stoddart 1987), where a 10 m storm surge in a cyclone in 1970 resulted in an estimated 280,000 deaths in the delta region, in part because of the failure of a previous scheme, which had involved the construction of massive polders surrounded by 5 m high earth banks.These proved too expensive and difficult to maintain, and many were breached or overtopped by the storm surge,

drowning those who thought they were protected by the scheme. Damage and loss of life were less in the west of the delta, where the traditional mangrove vegetation was more intact.The scheme adopted in the 1980s has been to protect the coastline by restoring the previous natural belt of fringing mangroves, with 65,000 ha planted by 1987 (Stoddart 1987).As well as providing physical protection against waves, wind and storm surge erosion and promoting sedimentation, the mangroves would provide timber and firewood, generate by-products such as honey, prawns and fish and eventually aid the transition of land (with sedimentation) from timber to paddy. Despite these measures, however, when the area was struck by a cyclone in 1991, much of the region was

EXTREME WEATHER EVENTS

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able 4.2 Percentages of the North Atlantic/Caribbean, east Pacific and Australian (southwest Pacific) cyclone areas showing increases, decreases or no change in cyclone activity (a) over 1962–89 (1962– 86 in the Pacific regions) and (b) in 1980–89 (1977–86 in the Pacific regions) compared with the rest of the period.

Source: After Eyre and Gray 1990.

again inundated by a storm surge, with 200,000 deaths, mostly on the offshore islands of the delta (Smith 1997). The impacts of future cyclones in the region are likely to increase given the high rate of population increase (Stoddart 1987), high sedimentation rates with Himalayan deforestation and predicted sea level rise with global warming (Smith 1997). Human impacts of a cyclone (as with most extreme climatic events) and human responses and adjustments to cyclones and cyclone risk var y g reatly with the socio-economic characteristics of the country (Table 4.4) (Box 4.2). Loss of life, injuries, destruction of homes and livelihood, and susceptibility to longerter m problems of f amine, disease and readjustment tend to be g reatest in less developed societies with high-density rural populations, such as in Bangladesh; in more developed societies, economic losses in monetary ter ms are much greater (because families and businesses have so much more to lose) but, because of better warning systems and (in the USA) better evacuation systems and building design, few lives tend to be lost and homes tend to be damaged rather than destroyed (Smith 1997). In assessing rural damage, it is important to consider not only

the ability of different land uses to withstand high winds but also the ease with which they can be replanted and come back into production following a hurricane. In the West Indies, one of the advantages of banana production as perceived by the f ar ming community is that, although bananas are the most easily devastated of crops by wind, they are also easily re-established and can produce a regular farmer income less than a year after a hurricane (Walsh 1998). Thus in Dominica the value of exports (mostly bananas) following Hurricane David in 1979 had overtaken 1978 levels by 1981 (Collymore 1995). In more developed countr ies, ‘spread-the-cost’ measures tend to be much more effective. Building and crop insurance is more widely adopted, and national subsidies from the rest of the population in terms of emergency aid prog rammes tend to aid rebuilding and readjustment. Impacts of extreme events are not always adverse. They can offer a chance for a complete reorientation of an economy. Thus, in Grenada, Hurricane Janet in 1955 hastened the widespread adoption of bananas by destroying the ailing nutmeg and cocoa plantation economy of the island and leading to a sudden substantial

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Box 4.1 The zoning of cyclone damage The zonation concept was described in detail by Stoddart (1971) in his study of the impact of Hurricane Hattie on the vegetation and geomorphology of the offshore reef islands (cays) of Belize in October 1961 (Figure 4.6A). Much of Zone A, especially to the north of the eye and including the capital, Belize City, was affected by a high storm surge. In the high, volcanic island of Dominica following Hurricane David in August 1979, landslide activity and damage to the rain

forest vegetation, plantations and property were likewise zoned, but with modifications due to topography (Figure 4.6B) (Walsh 1982; 1996b). Damage was less to the lee (west) of mountain ridges but increased where east-west-oriented valleys funnelled the easterly winds. Both Hattie and David were very severe (Class 5) hurricanes; in less severe cyclones, the zones of catastrophic and major damage may be absent. Also, different paths of a

Figure 4.6 Zonation of cyclone damage resulting from Hurricane hattie in Belize in 1961 (Stoddart 1971) and Hurricanes David and Frederic in Dominica in 1979.

Source: After Stoddart 1971; Walsh 1982; 1996b.

EXTREME WEATHER EVENTS cyclone (to the north of, south of or directly over a location) will result in different wind (and wave) directions and very different spatial patterns of damage. Stoddart (1971) demonstrated how land use and island size also affected the scale and nature of reef island damage in Hurricane Hattie (Table 4.3). All fifteen islands that were covered by natural vegetation (a low dense thicket and mangroves) actually aggraded in net terms as a result of the hurricane, demonstrating the essentially ‘constructional’ role of the extreme event

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in island building. Most of the islands with coconuts but with a regenerated thicket also grew, whereas islands with no or only low undergrowth suffered major beach retreat or sand-stripping, with two actually disappearing. Small islands were below the threshold for survival, disappearing whether or not they were vegetated. The implied message was clear: if one is to exploit the cays for coconut production, one should maintain a natural thicket understorey and clear as little of the fringing mangrove vegetation as possible.

Table 4.3 Role of vegetation cover in hurricane effects on reef islands in Belize during Hurricane Hattie in 1961.

Source: After Stoddart 1971. Note: Figures refer to the number of cays in each category.

Box 4.2 The impacts of Hurricane Gilbert The impacts that the Class 5 Hurricane Gilbert had on the ‘intermediate’ society of Jamaica, which it crossed east-west on 12 September 1989, have been analysed by Eyre (1989) and Barker and Miller (1990). Although loss of life was relatively small (fortyfive deaths), total damage was estimated at US$800–1000 million, a sum that exceeds the annual value of exports. Landslide activity resulting from the 200–400 mm rainfall was exacerbated by poor agricultural land management, with newly established coffee projects utilising ill-advised monocropping on steep slopes in the Blue Mountains being particularly badly affected. A quarter of the buildings in Jamaica were rendered unusable, at least temporarily, and a further 50 per cent

injection of colonial investment funds (Weaver 1968). In the island interior, the previously economically unproductive rain forest areas, which were largely felled by the hurricane, were

sustained some damage. Over 70 per cent of the private housing and most of the public sector infrastructure were uninsured. Barker and Miller (ibid.) found that the hurricane, which was personified as ‘a bad aggressive male’ by Jamaican society, was also seen as a social leveller, affecting people’s property regardless of income and class. This point is interesting, as it demonstrates that in relative economic terms, it is arguably not the very poor who incur the greatest relative loss but intermediate societies such as the wealthier sections of Jamaica, which have more valuable property and goods, but where their buildings are neither hurricane-proof nor insured, as they would be in the more advanced society of the USA.

replanted with fast-growing commercial Blue Mahot forest plantations. The extra funding also financed modern harbour facilities and a fishing industry based on newly discovered offshore

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Table 4.4 Responses to tropical cyclone hazards in relation to stage of development of a territory.

Source: In part based on Collimore 1995 and Smith 1996, 1997. Note: *In poorer countries, the significance and effectiveness of external relief varies inversely with the size of population of the territory affected.

fishing grounds. Particularly in the case of small islands or island states, therefore, hurricanes can focus the world’s attention and economic aid on a location that is otherwise an obscure economic backwater. Finally, some geographers have been directly involved in the development, planning and assessment of mitigation systems. For example Jeremy Collymore, who previously held posts in the Department of Geography in the University of the West Indies, has since worked in the PanCaribbean Disaster Preparedness and Prevention Project and then been director of the Caribbean Disaster Emergency Response Agency in Barbados. In an analysis of the advantages and limitations of different approaches to hazard mitigation as practised in the Car ibbean (Collymore 1995), he pointed out the limitations of ‘rational’ approaches such as cost-benefit analysis, when costs such as social dislocation and psychological trauma cannot be easily quantified in monetary terms and when perceptions of risk by people (Caribbean people have for cultural and historical reasons a high tolerance level for risk) do not conform to rational models. Consequently, the ‘intermediate’ Commonwealth Caribbean

territories are characterised by a heavy reliance on information-based mitigation strategies such as hurricane forecasting, warnings and preparedness information, a comparatively poor take-up of insurance, and a lack of comprehensive hazard management planning (see Table 4.4). Problems and dilemmas in advising planners

A number of problems and dilemmas in giving planning advice arise from recent cyclone research (Walsh 1998). One is the mismatch between the regional and sub-regional spatial scales, at which geographers provide reliable data (which may be useful for ship insurers), and the local (6.8 in Japan, which offers a rather different picture to the common view that building collapse is the principal determinant of mortality in earthquakes (Page et al. 1975). Microzonation of susceptible areas must therefore involve hypotheses about the behaviour of unstable rock, soil and debris masses during seismic loading. In the most complex situations, this may necessitate a series of maps that show different hazard levels or effects with different degrees of seismic acceleration of the ground. The methodology of volcanic hazard zonation is well developed and has been tested for several decades on the Cascades volcanoes of western North America (Crandell and Mullineaux 1975). Smith (1996: pp. 179–81) showed that 1970s maps of Mount St Helens were generally accurate guides to the spatial distribution of impacts of the 18 May 1980 eruption, with allowance for more severe landslides and blast effects than had been predicted. Complex hazard assessments have also been devised for other volcanoes, including Etna (Chester et al. 1985) and Vesuvius (see Box 5.1). The former involves a recurrent lava flow hazard that has necessitated a spatial analysis of the density

EARTHQUAKES AND VULCANISM

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Box 5.1 Volcanic hazards at Mount Vesuvius Located east of Naples in Campania region, southern Italy, Mount Vesuvius is a 1281 m high strato-volcano composed of layers of basaltic tephrite that are up to 300,000 years old. This complex volcanic edifice sits astride a subduction zone and has a history of occasionally violent eruptive and seismic activity. Major eruptions occurred in 5960 BC, 3580 BC, AD 79 and 1631. The AD 79 event involved the emission of 4 km3 of magmatic products in 19 hours and the creation of a plinian column of tephra and gas that was 32 km high. About 18,000 people may have died in this event, which deposited 3 m of ash on the city of Pompeii and, by pyroclastic flow, 23 m on Herculaneum. The last eruption occurred in March 1944, and since then, the volcano has been dormant. The time length of its repose is likely to be correlated positively with the strength of the next eruption. The probability of this has been calculated per ten-year period as 0.099 for a VEI3 event (a volcanic explosivity index of 3, classified as a

‘violent strombolian eruption’), 0.017 for VEI-4 (‘subplinian’) and 0.003 for VEI-5 (‘plinian’). According to vulcanological simulations, the last of these would generate a blast column 11–16 km high, which would consist of 5–10 per cent gas and 20 per cent tephra by weight. It would have an initial temperature of 1000°C, a duration of 3–12 hours and a diffusion rate of 3000 m2/s-1. About 700,000 people now live within a 15 km radius of the summit of Mount Vesuvius, mostly in the arc of towns on the southern side, which stretches from Torre Annunziata in the east to the Barra district of Naples in the west. Among these settlements, the urban area of Portici (1990 population 67,824) has a density of more than 17,000 people per km2, five times that of central Milan. Yet in 1631 4000 people died there in a pyroclastic flow that marked the onset of three centuries of intermittent eruptions. Figure 5.3 Volcanic hazards in the circum-Vesuvian area of southern Italy.

Source: Compiled from various sources – see text and bibliography. Risk levels depend on the geographical pattern of eruptive effects and human settlement (Figure 5.3). High-velocity winds at altitudes of 8–15 km would blow ash from a vertical column predominantly eastwards. Most buildings would collapse only under weights of deposited ash in excess of 100 kg/m2, which would be the case in areas that are very limited yet would still encompass several towns with a combined population of at least 51,000. The less populated areas to the north and northwest are shielded by a rampart, which is the remnant of the proto

Vesuvian Somma caldera. On the other hand, the coastal settlements to the south and southeast would bear the full brunt of lava flows, pyroclastic flows, faulting and localised tephra deposition. It has been estimated that an unexpected eruption might take 15,000–20,000 lives, especially as road congestion would probably be immediate and total. However, the volcano is intensively monitored, and detailed plans have been made to evacuate up to 1 million people by every available means, including sea transport.

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NATURAL AND ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARDS Plates 5.1 and 5.2 The lower part of the 1992–3 basaltic lava flows on the eastern flanks of Mount Etna. In plate 5.1 (top) the town of Zafferana Etnae can be seen in the distance, approximately 500 m from the distal end of the flow. In the foreground is a collapsed lava tube. Plate 5.2 (bottom) shows where the lava stopped in the garden of a house on the outskirts of the town. Local culture attributes the cessation of the flow to divine intervention by the Madonna of Providence, whose statue was brought in procession to this point, but science attributes it to the lava modification experiments and the end of the eruption that caused the flow.

of volcanic vents (at least one per km2), the length of lava flows (up to 15 km), the location of urban settlements (of which there are thirty-seven), and the pattern of valleys down which lava might flow (44 per cent of land below 2000 m is susceptible; Duncan et al. 1981). The response to this hazard has included one of the most ambitious and technically demanding lava flow diversion experiments ever mounted. From 14 December 1991 to 30 March 1993, in 473 days of continuous eruption, Etna disgorged 250 million m3 of lava over an area of 7 km2. In order to protect the 7000 inhabitants of Zafferana Etnea, artificial channels

were dug and lava flows were dammed with 370,000 m3 of earth. Complicated blocking tactics were used and lava levees were thinned with 7000 kg of explosives in order to retard the flow (Barberi et al. 1992). There are several reasons why volcanic hazards zonation is eminently practicable. One is that many volcanoes offer a clear series of precursory signs of impending eruption, while another is that the characteristic styles, locations and frequencies of eruptions can be deduced from stratigraphic evidence. This means that zonal maps can be constructed on the basis of knowledge of the

EARTHQUAKES AND VULCANISM prevailing volcanic processes that constitute the hazard (Martinelli 1991). Thus hazard maps have been made of ash falls on Etna and Vesuvius in Italy (Gasparini 1993), and of lahars, pyroclastic blasts and ash falls on Nevado del Ruiz, Colombia (Parra and Cepeda 1990). General hazards were mapped at the Soufr iere Hills volcano on Montserrat in the Caribbean almost a decade before the repeated eruptions of 1997, which were dominated by pyroclastic flows, vertical blasts and ash falls (Wadge and Isaacs 1988). However, the mere presence of a hazard map does not necessarily mean that there will be an adequate response in terms of land use and civil protection, as the awful case of the November 1985 eruption of Nevado del Ruíz demonstrated so graphically: 23,000 people were killed by lahars, and yet an accurate and comprehensive hazard map had existed for some months previously (Voight 1990). Remote sensing has proved to be invaluable as a means of generating a mappable overview of seismic and volcanic hazards (Murphy 1994). Further advances have been made using geographic infor mation systems (GIS). For example, Emmi and Horton (1993) used a GIS of Salt Lake County, Utah, to assess the spatial variation of earthquake risk in terms of exposure per iod, intensity of g round shaking and probability of earthquake occurrence.They related these factors to the vulnerability of the built environment (by constructing an inventory of buildings and a series of earthquake engineering damage functions), the pattern of building occupation and the expected nature of casualties. Simulation of spatial patterns enabled a sensitivity analysis to be conducted in order to assess the model’s limitations (Emmi and Horton 1995).

TSUNAMIS

Tsunamis are included here because they are mainly caused by earthquakes and volcanic eruptions. One aspect of tsunami research has been the compilation of catalogues that list known events in the world’s marine basins, for example the Pacific (Lockr idge 1988) and the

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Mediterranean (Soloviev 1990). These enable hazard assessments to be refined as new data are added, especially with respect to the recurrence intervals of tsunamis of given magnitudes. For instance, in eastern Honshu (Japan), run-up studies have been carried out since the 1930s, and it is known that 10m high tsunamis have a return period of only ten years. Even for areas with limited and infrequent tsunamis, such as the Italian peninsula, it has been possible to map the hazard quite successfully (Tinti 1991). The other pertinent aspect of tsunami research is warning, which is well developed only in the Pacific basin, through a regional mechanism, the Pacific Tsunami War ning System (PararasCarayannis 1986), and a rapid reaction local system, Project THRUST (Bernard 1991). Several geographical problems have been experienced with the PTWS. It must cover enormous areas and be able to monitor the progress of waves that travel through open ocean water at the speed of a cruising jet liner but which are not detectable to the naked eye until they make landfall. For adequate monitor ing, instruments must be deployed in remote and widely scattered locations, and the network must be dense enough to detect tsunamigenic events rapidly and efficiently in the widest possible variety of seismic, volcanic and tectonic settings. Perhaps it was the apparent remoteness of the problem that led Canada to withdraw briefly from among the twenty-three nations that participate in the PTWS. This proved to be a false economy, and it later rejoined. However, Pacific-wide warning is not particularly effective in the case of near-field tsunamis (i.e. when the interval between tsunamigenesis and the arrival of destructive waves is less than, say, twenty minutes), and for these, Project THRUST was developed on the basis of satellite and microcomputer technology. This is a particularly important development: worldwide, of the 53,000 coastal residents who died in ninety-four tsunamis that occurred over the period 1900–94, 99 per cent were located within 400 km of the point of tsunamigenesis, which was usually an earthquake epicentre.The PTWS gives a minimum alert time of one hour throughout the Pacific basin and ten

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Box 5.2 Earthquake monitoring at Parkfield, California In 1976, the prospects for earthquake prediction looked rosy, especially as the Chinese had claimed a major success at Haicheng the previous year. Yet two decades later, little practical progress seemed to have been made, despite vast improvements in both monitoring technologies and the understanding of earthquake source mechanisms. Statistical studies of Californian earthquakes revealed that the southern part of the state has an 86 per cent chance of experiencing a magnitude 7 tremor by the year 2024. One locality that bears a particularly high risk level is the town of Parkfield (population 34), which sits on a par t of the San Andreas fault that periodically

accumulates strain and releases it in earthquakes of magnitude 6 or more that have an average recurrence interval of about twenty-two years. The US Geological Survey therefore selected it for intensive monitoring of earthquake precursors. Several hundred instruments were installed in the local area (Figure 5.4), including 130 seismometers and accelerometers, eighty geodolite lines, nineteen alignment arrays, eighteen water well sampling sites, thirteen creep meters, seven dilatometers, six soil hydrogen meters and four tiltmeters. Many of these transmit data continuously to the USGS regional headquarters at Menlo Park near San Francisco. Figure 5.4 Distribution of earthquake-monitoring instruments on the San Andreas Fault in the Parkfield of California.

Source: After Bakun et al. 1988. The Parkfield Earthquake Prediction Experiment relies on two principles. First, it recognises that seismic precursors are sufficiently complex to require simultaneous interpretation of many geophysical phenomena. Second, earthquake advisories require good communication and understanding between scientists, emergency managers and the public. In 1992

and 1993, considerable mass media interest was stimulated when the USGS issued advisories that warned of an impending earthquake at Parkfield, and substantial preparations were therefore made by the California Office of Emergency Services. However, no earthquake occurred, which is perhaps just as well, as the residents of the

EARTHQUAKES AND VULCANISM Parkfield area had done little to prepare for the predicted tremors. Could the Parkfield Prediction Experiment thus be judged a failure? Not exactly: a national working group that was convened to evaluate it argued that Parkfield remains the best place in the country to ‘trap’ an earthquake and monitor any possible precursors. Although the short-term results had not been encouraging, the long term promises a rich harvest of useful scientific data. However, the lesson of 1992–3 is that communication between scientists and the public needs to be improved, as too much emphasis was given to short-term prediction, and the public had little appreciation of the wider goals of the experiment. Moreover, the impact of false alarms was underestimated.

minutes at the regional scale. This is insufficient at the local scale, but it is compensated for by THRUST, which has achieved a seventeen-second average response time (Bernard 1991).

MANAGEMENT OF VOLCANIC AND SEISMIC EMERGENCIES

Although earthquakes cannot be predicted accurately in the short term, much effort has been invested in monitoring their precursors (Rikitake 1984), and thus the methodology and technology have improved progressively. If precursors are insufficiently clear for prior warning of major earthquakes, then it is possible that once the shaking begins sensitive equipment, including computer systems and fast trains (Nakamura and Tucker 1988), can be shut down before damage is done. The prediction of volcanic eruptions is more feasible and relies on a variety of instruments, including infrared sensors for monitoring heat emissions, which are mainly the preserve of satellite remote sensing (Rothery 1992). However, Tilling and Lipman (1993) argued that vulcanolog ists rely too much on patter n recognition (the empirical approach to predicting eruptions) and not enough on the understanding of source mechanisms. On the other hand, Martinelli (1991) suggested that seismic signals are the best guide to impending eruption, especially if they can be related to other precursors. As monitoring is the key to prediction, the US

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In conclusion, short-term earthquake prediction remains an elusive goal, as most earthquake faulting mechanisms are unique, complex and, of course, hidden deep in the ground. Yet the January 1995 Great Hanshin earthquake at Kobe in Japan produced anomalies in strain rate, groundwater discharge, and the radon and chlorine content of groundwater, which began three months before the earthquake and were manifest at four locations 20–50 km from the epicentre. It is an open question as to whether they could have been recognised before the main shock and interpreted in such a way as to protect the population.

Geological Survey has developed a portable observation network and associated training scheme that can be used anywhere in the world where volcanic hazards are serious. Be this as it may, when a volcanic emergency occurs, it may last for months and require long-term evacuation (UNDRO/UNESCO 1985), as was the case with the Campi Flegrei bradyseismic activity (i.e. coastal vulcanism without surface eruption, composed mostly of a dome-like uplift) which affected the city of Pozzuoli, west of Naples, over 1983–5 and necessitated the per manent evacuation of 55,000 people (Zelinsky and Kosinski 1991).

SOCIAL RESEARCH

Geographers have played a minor but significant role in the process of planning for volcanic emergencies (Chester 1993), and they have played a more considerable part in planning against earthquakes.This has involved both hazard analysis (Beatley and Berke 1990) and policy studies (Berke and Beatley 1992).The latter have included analyses of the ‘window of opportunity’ for policy formulation and implementation that opens when a disaster has occurred recently and public opinion demands that something be done (Solecki and Michaels 1994). In the absence of such events, planning can be based on a synthetic form of ‘reality’ by using scenarios that prefigure the damage and casualties that will arise from an earthquake disaster. Thus Borchardt (1991) used

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seismic intensity distribution maps as a basis for his Californian scenarios. At the widest scale, earthquake hazards reduction depends on planning at the international level, under the aegis of the International Decade for Natural Disaster Reduction (Bolt 1991). However, seismic planning does not always involve a rational and concerted response to objective risk: Berke et al. (1989) surveyed communities in the United States to find out whether they adopted earthquake protection measures, or not. They found that the planning process, rather than the community context, tended to determine whether mitigation would occur. Often the measures were chosen as part of other needs, and hazard mitigation was a secondary consideration. Social scientists have devoted considerable attention to the political and economic aspects of earthquake hazards. General surveys by Petak and Atkisson (1982) and Alesch and Petak (1986) have clar ified the situation in Califor nia, especially with respect to the question of how building codes are updated and enforced. It is axiomatic that the major advances in seismic safety follow the principal events that cause damage or highlight risk. Thus, the 1933 Long Beach earthquake led to the first serious attempts to pass and apply anti-seismic building codes in California (it damaged unreinforced masonry buildings very substantially, including schools, where there would have been a considerable death toll if the earthquake had occurred at a different time of day). Also, the near failure of the Lower San Fernando Dam in the earthquake of 1971 (magnitude 6.7), in which liquefaction lowered the crest by 9 metres, led to new rules for dam inspection and certification and a new interest in engineering risk analysis. As a practical result, the Los Angeles Dam was built to withstand forces three times as large as those that its predecessor, the San Fernando Dam, was designed for. In the 1994 Northridge earthquake the older dam, which had been retained as a back-up, was again badly affected, while the new barrage was not seriously damaged (USGS 1996). Increasing interest in the economics of earthquakes has led to some overall studies that

outline the inverse multiplier effects and the taxation burdens associated with a major seismic disaster (e.g. US NRC 1992). Losses are rising considerably, and hence there is also considerable interest in techniques of loss estimation. The Hanshin earthquake of January 1995 at Kobe in Japan is estimated to have cost an order of magnitude more than the 1989 Loma Prieta (California) event (US$131.5 billion against US$12 billion). However, at least part of the increase may be the result of improved accounting procedures that take more heed of the hidden costs than was previously the case. Nevertheless, much soul searching is now going on regarding how to pay for the losses. Only a minor part is likely to be covered by indemnities, but the burden on the insurance and reinsurance industries is becoming difficult to bear. There is thus considerable debate over the best strategy for sustainable earthquake insurance (Mittler 1990), although the question of whether individual householders are motivated to purchase it is a complex one that involves work on both hazard perception and economics. In this context, Palm (1995) found that, although the purchase of insurance by California households has risen substantially and now exceeds 50 per cent in some counties, the pattern of adoption is more related to the perception of risk than it is to the actual severity of the hazard. According to Ohta and Ohashi (1985), the main factors that govern people’s immediate response to earthquakes are seismic intensity, spatial conditions, family or other group composition, age and sex. However, behaviour is also intimately linked to hazard perception. Generally, this is less acute and behaviour less selfprotective among poor, disadvantaged and minority groups (Bolin 1990), although it has also been linked to personality factors (SimpsonHousley and Bradshaw 1978). In the heat of the moment, perception can be seriously wrong and hence give rise to maladaptive behaviour, which in extreme cases may lead to injury that otherwise could have been avoided (Alexander 1990). Perhaps one of the most contentious social issues is that of public reaction to earthquake

EARTHQUAKES AND VULCANISM predictions, especially if these are made without an adequate scientific basis. Thus, much attention was given to the Iben Browning earthquake prediction in southern Illinois in 1992 (Spence et al. 1993).The apparent plausibility of this charlatan prediction, and the willingness of the mass media and a few scientists to take it ser iously, undermined the public status of genuine scientific efforts to forecast seismic activity. Official seismological institutions tried to rebut the prediction by ignoring it, which turned out to be a mistake, as the public thought they had something to hide (Stevens 1993). In the same vein, social scientific perspectives on journalistic coverage of earthquakes suggest a lack of faith in the news media’s ability to portray events accurately, although some researchers have argued that the media can successfully be induced to play a valuable role as suppliers of emergency management information to the public (Scanlon et al. 1985). Although the Western news media’s coverage of earthquake disasters in third world countries is not explicitly biased against such places, it seems to be strongly related to the number of reporters on the ground and their contacts in the local area, and to readers’ familiarity with the area in question (Gaddy and Tanjong 1986). Some fine studies of post-ear thquake reconstruction have been conducted in the tradition of urban geography. Of particular note are Robert Geipel’s longitudinal study of postearthquake social change in the Friuli region, northern Italy (Geipel 1982; 1990) and William Mitchell’s studies of the aftermaths of earthquakes in Turkey (Mitchell 1976; 1977). A theoretical basis to reconstruction was given by Robert Kates’ and David Pijawka’s comparative study of the earthquakes in San Francisco in 1906, Alaska in 1964 and Nicaragua in 1972 (Kates and Pijawka 1977).Their model charts the progress of recovery through four stages, including one of replacement reconstruction and one of post-reconstruction urban development. It has been taken up again and adapted by development studies specialists (Kirkby et al. 1997). But when Hogg (1980) applied this model to the aftermath of the two earthquakes

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that occurred in Friuli in 1976 she found that the pace, direction and relative success of reconstruction varied geographically in relation to the political and economic ties between communities. It also varied temporally, as in Friuli there were two main shocks separated by six months and hence the reconstruction that had begun at the time of the second earthquake was abruptly set back (see Figure 5.5). Damaged settlements that had effective leaderships and good political ties to the centres of power were the first to be reconstructed. It therefore appeared misleading to use the Kates and Pijawka model to character ise reconstruction in a spatially aggregated way. Moreover, Geipel (1990) found that reconstruction in Friuli led to disillusionment and debt as a result of overambitious planning, which strained the social system and forced the pace of change. Another factor that characterises the geography of post-seismic reconstruction is geographical inertia. Thus, Mileti and Passerini (1996) argued that there are six reasons why reconstruction tends to occur in situ: first, survivors want to return to normal as soon as possible; second, damage is seldom extensive enough to warrant wholesale relocation; third, cultural values bind communities to specific places; fourth, most procedures deal with individual structures and property owners, not with aggregate groups; fifth, funds are seldom sufficient to allow complete relocation; and finally, planning is not usually adequate to the task of complete relocation. In contrast to earthquakes, relatively little has been done to study the social effects of volcanic eruptions (Peterson 1988). However, thorough studies were made of Mount St Helens after the May 1980 eruption (Perry and Lindell 1990). In a study of ash fall hazards,Warrick et al. (1981) found that volcanic risks can be so widely dispersed and so infrequently manifest that they may be poorly perceived by potential victims. This situation is typical of high-consequence, low-frequency hazards in general. The final aspect of applied social studies of earthquakes and volcanic eruptions concerns education and training. Both are an important part

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NATURAL AND ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARDS Figure 5.5 Comparison between Kates’ and Pijawka’s (1977) model of the stages of recovery after disaster (A) and Hogg’s (1980) application of this schema in the Friuli region, Italy (B), where in 1976 two damaging earthquakes occurred with a six-month time interval between them.

of the International Decade for Natural Disaster Reduction (IDNDR 1990–2000) and have given rise to a growing methodological debate. One aspect of this is that substantial new prospects have been opened up by the Internet, which has facilitated both distance lear ning and the acquisition and use of data.

CONCLUSION

So compelling are the phenomena involved that natural hazards studies are almost by definition applied forms of research. Indeed, the field is dominated by practical problems, such as how to provide a safer environment and apportion scarce resources for mitigation and emergency management. In disasters, time is the backbone of events and geographical space is their medium of expression (Alexander 1995). However, even though spatial relationships are fundamental to the interpretation of many processes in natural catastrophe, the role of geographers has been muted. Excellent studies of urban and social change dur ing reconstruction, and of the geomorphology of tectonic and volcanic hazards,

have been conducted by geographers, but their work has been somewhat overshadowed by that of geophysicists and sociologists. Yet the human ecological tradition of hazards studies, which stretches back more than fifty years, stems directly from the work of geographers (White 1973). One suspects that in the field of natural hazards in general, and studies of volcanic and seismic hazards in particular, a great geographical challenge has not been met.There is considerable scope for the formulation of general spatial models that integrate the physical hazard, in terms of the distribution of risks and impacts, with the human response in terms of the patterns of vulnerability, impact and emergency response. Dynamic spatial patterns are thus created by distance decay and the temporal evolution of disaster scenarios. Yet almost no geographers are actively engaged in spatial analysis of data on disaster impacts, at least not with a view to the creation of general models.This is a pity, as spatial regularities are undoubtedly waiting to be discovered, and robust spatial models would greatly aid in forecasting the pattern of impacts, damage and casualties to be expected when the earth shakes or volcanoes erupt.

EARTHQUAKES AND VULCANISM GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Alexander, D.E. (1993) Natural Disasters. London: UCL Press, and New York: Chapman & Hall. Chapter 2 describes the nature of volcanic and seismic hazards, and the socio-economic reactions to them, while Chapters 5–9 include information on impacts, and their management and mitigation. Blong, R.J. (1984) Volcanic Hazards: A Sourcebook on the Effects of Eruptions. Orlando, Florida: Academic Press. An all-embracing book on the impact of eruptions and what can be done to mitigate them. Bolton, P.A. et al. (eds) (1994–8) The Loma Prieta, California, earthquake of October 17, 1989. US Geological Survey Professional Papers 1550–3. A comprehensive modern analysis of a major earthquake disaster, which extends from the seismic to the social, economic and medical aspects of the catastrophe. Chester, D.K. (1993) Volcanoes and Society. London: Edward Arnold. A geographer’s eclectic approach to volcanoes, which covers a range of themes that stretches from geophysics to hazard management and economic aspects. Palm, R. (1995) The Roepke lecture in economic geography: catastrophic earthquake insurance: patterns of adoption. Economic Geography 71, 119– 131. A summary of a series of geographical field analyses conducted in the western USA in order to study the diffusion process for one nonstructural seismic risk mitigation technique. Tilling, R.I. (1989) Volcanic hazards and their mitigation: progress and problems. Reviews of Geophysics 27(2), 237–69. A review of types of volcanic hazard and techniques of monitoring them and forecasting eruptions.

REFERENCES Alesch, D.J. and Petak,W.J. (1986) The Politics and Economics of Earthquake Hazard Mitigation. Monograph no. 43, Boulder, Colorado: Natural Hazards Research and Applications Information Center.

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Alexander, D.E. (1989) Spatial aspects of earthquake epidemiology. Proceedings of the International Workshop on Earthquake Injury Epidemiology for Mitigation and Response, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 82–94. Alexander, D.E. (1990) Behaviour during earthquakes: a southern Italian example. International Journal of Mass Emergencies and Disasters 8(1), 5–29. Alexander, D.E. (1993) Natural Disasters. London: UCL Press, and New York: Chapman & Hall. Alexander, D.E. (1995) A survey of the field of natural hazards and disaster studies. In A.Carrara and F. Guzzetti (eds) Geographical Information Systems in Assessing Natural Hazards, Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1–19. Ambraseys, N.N. (1992) Long-term seismic hazard in the eastern Mediterranean region. In G.McCall, D. Laming and S.Scott (eds) Geohazards: Natural and Man-Made, London: Chapman and Hall, 83–92. Bakun, W.H. et al., (1988) The Parkfield earthquake prediction experiment in central California. Earthquakes and Volcanoes 20(2), 41–91. Barberi, F., Carapezza, M.L., Valenza, M. and Villari, L. (1992) The control of lava flow during the 1991– 1992 eruption of Mount Etna. Journal of Volcanology and Geothermal Research 56, 1–34. Beatley, T. and Berke, P. (1990) Seismic safety through public incentives: the Palo Alto seismic identification program. Earthquake Spectra 6(1), 57–79. Berke, P.R. and Beatley, T. (1992) Planning for Earthquakes: Risk, Politics and Policy. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Berke, P., Beatley, T. and Wilhite, S. (1989) Influences on local adoption of planning measures for earthquake hazard mitigation. International Journal of Mass Emergencies and Disasters 7(1), 33–56. Bernard, E.N. (1991) Assessment of Project THRUST: past, present, future. Natural Hazards 4(2–3), 285–92. Bernard, A. and Rose Jr, W.I. (1990) The injection of sulphuric acid aerosols into the stratosphere by the El Chichón volcano and its related hazards to the international air traffic. Natural Hazards 3(1), 59–68. Bolin, R. (ed.) (1990) The Loma Prieta Earthquake: Studies of Short-Term Impacts. Monograph no. 50, Boulder, Colorado: Program on Environment and Behavior, Institute of Behavioral Sciences. Bolt, B.A. (1991) International earthquake hazard reduction program for IDNDR underway. Stop Disasters 4, 12. Borchardt, G. (1991) Preparation and use of earthquake planning scenarios. California Geology 44(9), 195–203. Brambati, A., Faccioli, E., Carulli, G.B., Cucchi, F., Onofri, R., Stefanini, S. and Ulcigrai, F. (1980) Studio di

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microzonizzazione sismica dell’area di Tarcento (Friuli). Trieste, Italy: Friuli-Venezia-Giulia Autonomous Region and University of Trieste. Brazee, R.J. (1979) Re-evaluation of modified Mercalli intensity scale using distance as deter minant. Seismological Society of America Bulletin 69(3), 911–24. Bullard, F.M. (1984) Volcanoes of the Earth (2nd edn). Austin, Texas: University of Texas Press. Casadevall,T.J. (ed.) (1991) First International Symposium on volcanic ash and aviation safety. US Geological Survey Circular 1065, 58 pp. Chester, D.K. (1993) Volcanoes and Society. London: Edward Arnold. Chester, D.K., Duncan, A.M., Guest, J.E. and Kilburn, C.R.J. (1985) Mount Etna: The Anatomy of a Volcano. London: Chapman & Hall. Choudhury, G.S. and Jones, N.P. (1996) Development and application of data collection forms for post-earthquake surveys of structural damage and human casualties. Natural Hazards 13(1), 17–38. Cooke, R.U. and Doornkamp, J.C. (1990) Geomorphology in Environmental Management: A New Introduction (2nd edn). Oxford: Clarendon Press. Crandell, D.R. and Mullineaux, D.R. (1975) Technique and rationale of volcanic-hazards appraisal in the Cascades Range, northwestern United States. Environmental Geology 1, 23–32. Degg, M.R. (1989) Earthquake hazard assessment after Mexico (1985). Disasters 13(3), 237–46. Degg, M.R. (1992) The ROA Earthquake Hazard Atlas project: recent work from the Middle East. In G.McCall, D.Laming and S.Scott (eds), Geohazards: Natural and Man-Made. London: Chapman & Hall, 93– 104. Del Moral, R. and Wood, D.M. (1993) Early primary succession on a barren volcanic plain at Mount St. Helens, Washington. American Journal of Botany 80, 981–91. Door nkamp, J.C. and Han Mukang (1985) Morphotectonic research in China and its application to earthquake prediction. Progress in Physical Geography 9, 353–78. Duncan, A.M., Chester, D.K. and Guest, J.E. (1981) Mount Etna volcano: environmental impact and problems of volcanic prediction. Geographical Journal 147(2), 164–78. Emmi, P.C. and Horton, C.A. (1993) GIS-based assessment of earthquake property damage and casualty risk, Salt Lake County, Utah. Earthquake Spectra 9(1), 11–33. Emmi, P.C. and Horton, C.A. (1995) A Monte Carlo simulation of error propagation in a GIS-based assessment of seismic risk. International Journal of Geographical Information Systems 9(4), 447–61.

Fahmi, K.J. and Alabbasi, J.N. (1989) Seismic intensity zoning and earthquake risk mapping in Iraq. Natural Hazards 1(4), 331–40. Francis, P.W. (1994) Volcanoes: A Planetary Perspective. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Gaddy, G.D. and Tanjong, E. (1986) Earthquake coverage by the western press. Journal of Communication 36(2), 105–12. Gasparini, C., De Rubeis, V. and Tertulliani, A. (1992) A method for the analysis of macroseismic questionnaires. Natural Hazards 5(2), 169–77. Gasparini, P. (1993) Research on volcanic hazards in Europe. Science 260, 1759–60. Geipel, R. (1982) Disaster and Reconstruction: The Friuli (Italy) Earthquakes of 1976 (trans. Wagner, P.). London: Allen & Unwin. Geipel, R. (1990) The Long-Term Consequences of Disasters: The Reconstruction of Friuli, Italy, in its International Context, 1976–1988. Heidelberg: Springer-Verlag. Giardini, D. (1992) The Global Seismic Hazard Assessment Programme (GSHAP). Stop Disasters 8, 11. Gori, P. and Hays,W.W. (eds) (1992) Assessment of regional earthquake hazards and risk along the Wasatch Front, Utah. US Geological Survey Professional Paper 1500A-J. Handler, P. (1989) The effect of volcanic aerosols on global climate. Journal of Volcanology and Geothermal Research 37(3/4), 233–49. Hays, W.W. (1984) Technical problems in the construction of a map to zone the earthquake ground-shaking hazard in the United States. Engineering Geology 20(1/2), 13–24. Hewitt, K. (1983) Seismic r isk and mountain environments: the role of surface conditions in earthquake disaster. Mountain Research and Development 3(1), 27–44. Hogg, S.J. (1980) Reconstruction following seismic disaster in Venzone, Friuli. Disasters 4(2), 173–85. IFRCRCS (1997) World Disasters Report 1997. Oxford: International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies and Oxford University Press. Iglesias, J. (1989) The Mexico earthquake of September 19, 1985: seismic zoning of Mexico City after the 1985 earthquake. Earthquake Spectra 5(1), 257–71. Ihnen, S.M. and Hadley, D.M. (1987) Seismic hazard maps for Puget Sound, Washington. Seismological Society of America Bulletin 77(4), 1091–109. Kates, R.W. and Pijawka, D. (1977) From rubble to monument: the pace of reconstruction. In J.Haas, M.Kates and M.Bowden (eds) Disaster and Reconstruction, Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1–23. Kijko, A., Skordas, E., Wahlström, R. and Mäntyniemi, P. (1993) Maximum likelihood estimation of seismic hazard for Sweden. Natural Hazards 7(1), 41–57.

EARTHQUAKES AND VULCANISM Kirkby, J., O’Keefe, P., Convery, I. and Howell, D. (1997) On the emergence of complex disasters. Disasters 21(2), 177–80. Kobayashi, Y. (1981) Causes of fatalities in recent earthquakes in Japan. Journal of Disaster Science 3, 15–22. Kockelman, W.J. and Brabb, E.E. (1979) Examples of seismic zonation in the San Francisco Bay region. US Geological Survey Circular 807, 73–84. Kotoda, K., Wakamatsu, W. and Midorikawa, S. (1988) Seismic microzonation on soil liquefaction potential based on geomorphological land classification. Soils and Foundations 28(2), 127–43. Lapajne, J.K., Motnikar, B.S. and Zupancvicv, P. (1997) Preliminary seismic hazard maps of Slovenia. Natural Hazards 14(2–3), 155–64. Levret, A., Backe, J.C. and Cushing, M. (1994) Atlas of macroseismic maps for French earthquakes with their principal characteristics. Natural Hazards 10(1–2), 19–46. Lockridge, P.A. (1988) Historical tsunamis in the Pacific basin. In M.I.El-Sabh and T.S.Murty (eds) Natural and Man-Made Hazards, Dordrecht: Reidel, 171–81. Malkawi, A.I.H., Liang, R.Y., Nusairat, J.H. and AlHomoud, A.S. (1995) Probabilistic seismic hazard zonation of Syria. Natural Hazards 12(2), 139–51. Mäntyniemi, P. and Kijko, A. (1991) Seismic hazard in East Africa: an example of the application of incomplete and uncertain data. Natural Hazards 4(4), 421–30. Martinelli, B. (1991) Understanding tr igger ing mechanisms of volcanoes for hazard evaluation. Episodes 14(1), 19–25. Mileti, D.S. and Passerini, E. (1996) A social explanation of urban relocation after earthquakes. International Journal of Mass Emergencies and Disasters 14(1), 97–110. Mitchell,W.A. (1976) Reconstruction after a disaster: the Gediz earthquake of 1970. Geographical Review 66, 296–313. Mitchell, W.A. (1977) Partial recovery and reconstruction after disaster: the Lice case. Mass Emergencies 2, 233–47. Mittler, E. (1990) Evaluating alternative national earthquake insurance programs. Earthquake Spectra 6(4), 757–78. Muñoz, A.V. (1989) Assessment of earthquake hazard in Panama based on seismotectonic regionalization. Natural Hazards 2(2), 115–32. Murphy, J.M. and Wesnousky, S.G. (1994) A postearthquake re-evaluation of seismic hazard in the San Francisco Bay area. The Loma Prieta, California, earthquake of October 17, 1989: strong ground motion. US Geological Survey Professional Paper 1551A, 255–72. Murphy,W. (1994) Remote sensing applications for seismic hazard assessment. In Wadge, G. (ed.) Natural Hazards

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and Remote Sensing, London: Royal Society and Royal Academy of Engineering, 34–8. Musson, R.M.W. and Winter, P.W. (1997) Seismic hazard maps for the U.K. Natural Hazards 14(2–3), 141–54. Nakamura,Y. and Tucker, B.E. (1988) Earthquake warning system for Japan Railways’ bullet train: implications for disaster prevention in California. Earthquakes and Volcanoes 20(4), 140–55. Nash, D.B. (1981) FAULT: a Fortran program for modelling the degradation of active normal fault scarps. Computers and Geosciences 7, 249–66. Ohta, Y. and Ohashi, H. (1985) Field survey of occupant behaviour in an earthquake. International Journal of Mass Emergencies and Disasters 3(1), 147–60. Ollier, C. (1988) Volcanoes (2nd edn). Oxford: Blackwell. Orozova-Stanishkova, I. and Slejko, D. (1994) Seismic hazard of Bulgaria. Natural Hazards 9(1/2), 247–71. Page, R.A., Blume, J.A. and Joyner,W.B. (1975) Earthquake shaking and damage to buildings. Science 189, 601–8. Palm, R. (1995) The Roepke lecture in economic geography: catastrophic earthquake insurance: patterns of adoption. Economic Geography 71, 119–31. Panizza, M. (1989) Geomorphological contributions to seismic risk assessment. Geografia Fisica e Dinamica Quaternaria Supplement 2, 111–14. Papazachos, B.C., Papaioannou, Ch.A., Margaris, B.N. and Theodulidis, N.P. (1993) Regionalization of seismic hazard in Greece based on seismic sources. Natural Hazards 8(1), 1–18. Pararas-Carayannis, G. (1986) The Pacific Tsunami Warning System. Earthquakes and Volcanoes 18(3), 122–30. Parra, E. and Cepeda, H. (1990) Volcanic hazard maps of the Nevado del Ruiz volcano, Colombia. Journal of Volcanology and Geothermal Research 42(1–2), 117–27. Perry, R.W. and Lindell, M.K. (1990) Living with Mount St Helens: Human Adjustment to Volcanic Hazards. Pullman, Washington:Washington State University Press. Petak, W.J. and Atkisson, A.A. (1982) Natural Hazard Risk Assessment and Public Policy: Anticipating the Unexpected. New York: Springer-Verlag. Peterson, D.W. (1988) Volcanic hazards and public response. Journal of Geophysical Research 93B, 4161–70. Qamar, A. and Meagher, K.L. (1993) Precisely locating the Klamath Falls earthquakes. Earthquakes and Volcanoes 24(3), 129–39. Rikitake, T. (1984) Earthquake Precursors. In T. Rikitake (ed.) Earthquake Prediction, Tokyo: Terra Scientific Publishing, and Paris: UNESCO Press, 3–20. Rothery, D.A. (1992) Monitoring and warning of volcanic eruptions by remote sensing. In G.McCall, D.Laming

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6 Landslides Michael Crozier

INTRODUCTION

Landslides are of interest to geographers for three main reasons. First, by eroding, transporting and depositing soil and rock, they represent one of the important geomorphic processes involved in shaping the surface of the Earth. In unstable areas, they may displace up to 2000 m3/km2/year (Crozier 1989), severely depleting the soil resource and threatening the sustainability of primary production (Sidle et al. 1985). Although they are particularly common in tectonically active mountainous areas, and along river banks and coasts, they may also occur in other areas that have weak material or a susceptible geological structure. The second reason for geographical interest is that landslides are sensitive indicators of environmental change. As a geomorphic process, a landslide represents a short-term adjustment to disturbance of the natural system. As they take place, they rapidly convert unstable slopes to a more stable condition, allowing other slow-acting processes to assume the role of denudation. In terms of landform evolution, this means that most slopes are stable for most of the time. Thus when landslides occur they are generally responding to some significant change within the natural system. Initiating factors may include tectonic activity, climate change, and natural or human-induced disturbance to the vegetation cover, slope hydrology or slope form. Knowledge of both past and present landslide activity can therefore provide useful information on environmental change. Indeed, there has been a major international

research effort aimed at reconstructing past climates and climatic change in Europe, based on landslide evidence preserved in the landscape (Crozier 1997). The third reason landslides are often studied by geographers is that landslides can present a serious natural hazard (Varnes 1984; Crozier 1996). A full appreciation of hazard requires knowledge not only of the physical process but also of the nature of the threatened society. In a sense, hazards are an aspect of human ecology. They involve interrelationships between physical, social and economic systems; as such, they constitute a field of study in which geographers are able to make a valuable contribution. This chapter focuses on the principles of landslide hazard and risk assessment. It briefly introduces the physical process and then goes on to discuss different approaches to landslide hazard assessment.

THE PHYSICAL PROCESS

In dealing with landslides, it is important to use a classification that distinguishes between characteristics that are relevant to the intended end-use of the study. The classification should use clearly defined and inter nationally understood terms. The working party on the World Landslide Inventory (1990) has made an attempt to standardise terminology and defines a landslide simply as: ‘the movement of a mass of rock, earth, or debris down a slope.’ A more

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comprehensive definition, which helps to distinguish landslides from the other geomorphological processes, is: ‘the downward or outward movement of a mass of slopeforming material under the influence of gravity, occurring on discrete boundaries and taking place initially without the aid of water as a transpor tational agent.’ As this second definition indicates, landslides are more than just a simple downslope movement of material. The three most widely used classifications involving landslides (Sharpe 1938; Varnes 1958; 1978; Hutchinson 1988) separate ‘mass movements’ (Fairbr idge 1968) into two categories: ‘subsidence’ (which is the vertical sinking of material) and those movements that occur on slopes. These ‘slope movements’ are then usually divided first into ‘landslides’, as defined above, and second into the slower, more widespread and ill-defined movements such as ‘creep’, ‘sagging’ and ‘rebound’. Of all the types of slope movement, it is landslides that have the potential to undergo rapid movement, making them a potentially dangerous form of natural hazard. Of the many different landslide classifications in existence (Hansen 1984a) the system devised by Varnes (1978) is often preferred because it is simple and easy to apply in the field (Table 6.1). The criteria used to define the landslide types are Table 6.1 Landslide classification

Source: Varnes 1978

mechanism of movement, shape of the failure surface, degree of disruption and type of material. These are all characteristics that reflect an aspect of hazard or which need to be known in order to carry out stability analysis. In applying this classification, it is important to remember that the material criterion refers to the original slope material, not to what may subsequently appear in the deposit. In order to choose the most appropriate method of reducing risk from the landslides (whether prevention, control, avoidance or compensation for loss) it is important to know something about the range of factors that lead to slope failure and how they operate. For example, it may be found that risk can be reduced more cheaply and more effectively by draining groundwater from a slope than by zoning it as unsuitable for use. Comprehensive lists of causative factors are available (Varnes 1958; Cooke and Doornkamp 1990; Crozier 1995), but it is useful to simplify these into categories. One way of doing this is to consider the function that various factors have in changing the conditions of slope stability. Figure 6.1 introduces some concepts in slope stability. It shows that a slope may pass from a ‘stable’ condition to a ‘marg inally stable’ condition and finally to the ‘actively unstable’ condition, where the slope actually fails as a

LANDSLIDES Figure 6.1 Stability factors classified by function.

landslide. Whether a slope is likely to move through these stages depends on factors referred to as ‘preconditions’ (or inherent factors). These may include features of the locality such as susceptible rock structure, weak material and slope form. ‘Preparatory factors’, on the other hand, are more active and produce changes that make the slope more vulnerable to failure without actually initiating movement. They change the slope from a stable to a marginally stable condition. Some of the most common preparatory factors include deforestation (Plate 6.1), removal of the toe of the slope (either naturally or artificially) and alteration of slope drainage. Some preparator y f actors may

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eventually initiate a landslide, in which case they become ‘triggering factors’. The most common triggering factors include rainstorms, earthquake shaking and removal of support from the toe of the slope. Finally, once a landslide begins to occur, ‘movement-controlling factors’ take over. These may deter mine, for example, how disrupted the slide becomes, or how far it runs out. All these factors ultimately influence the stress conditions within the slope either by reducing the shear strength or increasing the shear stress (Selby 1993).

IDENTIFYING THE HAZARD

The ultimate goal in landslide hazard assessment is the successful prediction of the place of occurrence of an event, its impact characteristics and its relationship with time (Hansen 1984b). In other words, identifying the threat from landslide hazard means finding out what, where, when and how dangerous? Indeed, this goal is common to the assessment of all hazards. In the conventional definition adopted by United Nations Disaster Relief Organisation, ‘time’ and ‘character’ are Plate 6.1 Rainfall-triggered soil landslides in a part of New Zealand that has been deforested within the last 100 years. These landslides seriously deplete the soil resource and reduce pasture productivity (photograph: Hawkes Bay Regional Council).

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equated with ‘probability’ and ‘magnitude’, respectively, and are taken together to represent hazard for a given place. Thus hazard is defined as the probability of occurrence (frequency) of a given magnitude of event and is incorporated in the hazard/risk equation as: hazard×elements at risk×vulnerability=total risk

where, in the case of landslides (Varnes 1984; Crozier 1993): hazard is the probability of occurrence (frequency) of a given magnitude of failure; magnitude refers to the impact characteristics of the process; elements at risk are people, property, livelihood and other values; vulnerability is the expected degree of loss for a

Box 6.1 The East Abbotsford landslide disaster IMPACT

At 9.05 pm on the dark and wet winter night of 8 August 1979, a large slice of suburban land in Abbotsford, South Island, New Zealand, suddenly slid downslope, trapping seventeen people, destroying sixty-nine individual homes

and dis-placing 200 people (NZ government 1980). Because early warning signs of instability had been heeded and an efficient emergency management capability was available, nobody was killed, but the costs were high. The total cost from the destruction of houses, urban infrastructure and relief amounted to about NZ$15 million in today’s terms (Plate 6.2). A sophisticated national insurance scheme designed to cope with such disasters, together with government and voluntary relief measures, meant that many of the residents were compensated for much of the direct loss. However, less obvious costs, such as depressed property values in the surrounding area, psychological trauma and the expense of a prolonged commission of inquiry, were not immediately appreciated. TYPE OF LANDSLIDE

Block slide of sandstone involving bedding plane failure along a weak layer of montmorillonite clay, dipping at 7°. Displacement of 50 m occurred in 30 minutes, leaving a graben of 30 m depth at the head of the slope. CAUSES

Plate 6.2 Destruction in the suburb of Abbotsford, caused by the block slide of 8 August 1979 (photograph: Bill Brockie).

Preconditions • Unstable geological structure with bedding planes dipping into the valley at angles close to the inclination of the hill slope. • Permeable material overlying less per meable material, allowing perched water table to develop above the shear plane. • A very weak montmorillonite-rich layer along the shear plane. Preparatory factors • Deforestation within the previous 150 years: lowering evapotranspiration, removing mechanical root reinforcement. • Urbanisation within the previous forty years: cutting, filling, modification of surface drainage. • Quarrying of material from the toe of the slope ten years previously, thus removing lateral buttressing support. Triggering factors Unknown; possibly a combination of leakage from a city water supply pipeline and rainfall.

LANDSLIDES

HAZARD CHARACTERISTICS

Magnitude: 5.4 million m . Rate: initial slow creep, followed by rapid movement of 1.7 m/ minute. Duration: rapid sliding for 30 minutes. Area affected: 18 ha, with effects over wide area adjacent to slide. Speed of onset/warning: indications of slow movement, cracking in houses and drains evident at least eleven months prior to slide. Measurements of accelerating creep rate, made six weeks prior to slide, alerted authorities (Figure 6.2). 3

LESSONS

• Dangerous landslides can occur on very gentle slopes if unfavourable preconditions exist. • Attention to early warning indicators can enhance preparedness and save lives. • Human activity can destabilise slopes. • Low-frequency, high-magnitude events are difficult to predict, but mapping and dating of old landslide features can provide some indication of existing hazard.

• Auniversal landslide insurance scheme eased the cost burden of victims. However, the event exposed some weakness in the scheme, viz that compensation payments would not be made until damage had actually occurred. This meant that money was not available to move houses from threatened areas prior to the main slide occurring. Also, the insurance scheme at the time covered only house and related damage, not land damage. • A regional landslide hazard assessment should be made where there is evidence of previous landslide activity. GEOGRAPHERS’ ROLE

• Terrain analysis and geomorphic mapping to identify former landslide features. • Investigation of hazard and event causes by integration of information from multiple sources, including historical records, urban development, climatic records, geology, geomorphology and hydrology. • Assessment of vulnerability, risks and impacts through analysis of physical, socio-economic factors.

Figure 6.2 Movement rates preceding the Abbotsford landslide of 8 August 1979.

Source: Redrawn from Coombs and Norris 1981.

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given magnitude; and total risk is the expected loss for the time period and place under consideration. The concepts embodied in this equation acknowledge that risk, in any given place, is a function of the relationship between the physical and human environment. One of the most important activities in both risk assessment and risk mitigation is the analysis of previous events. The East Abbotsford landslide disaster (see Box 6.1 on p. 86) provides an example of event analysis. Site assessment

The question of where a landslide may occur may not always be a major factor in landslide hazard analysis. This is because the site of concern may have already been identified by the potential risk or by the fact that a landslide already exists and presents a serious threat. Such situations can occur along highways or reservoirs, or near population centres or valuable assets. The assessment of hazard at an important site usually takes the form of stability analysis. In the first instance, this may be done by qualitative observations. For example, if landslide features are present, an attempt may be made to determine whether the slide is still active, or when the last movement took place. There are many features that can be used to determine the state of activity (Crozier 1984). If the site has no evidence of previous movement, then stability may be determined by the ‘precedence’ approach. This involves comparing both stable and unstable slopes in the same terrain in order to identify the threshold conditions (e.g. slope angle and height) that have been associated with landsliding in the past. The site of concern is then compared with these conditions, and if it is found to have similarities to failed slopes, a more detailed quantitative analysis may be required. Quantitative stability analysis compares the magnitude of resisting forces to the magnitude of shearing forces, expressed as a factor of safety (FoS):

At the point of failure, FoS=1.0. In many engineering studies, stability analysis is the only way in which the probability of occurrence is determined, and hazard is implicitly assumed to be inversely proportional to the factor of safety. This form of analysis requires detailed information on shear strength, slope hydrology, slope geometry, and the shape and position of the potential failure surface. Such information may require expensive subsurface investigation, as well as field and laboratory testing. Until recently, either assumptions or detailed measurements on pore water pressure were required before stability analysis could be performed. However, computer models are now available that simulate changes in slope hydrology in response to rainfall while continuously analysing the factor of safety on numerous potential shear planes throughout the slope. One of the most successful of these models (the CHASM model) has been developed through the extensive fieldwork car r ied out largely by geographers (Anderson et al. 1988). With such techniques, it is possible to deter mine the magnitude of rainfall required to produce failure on a given slope. The return period of this threshold value can then be determined from the climatic record to provide a measure of the probability of occurrence of landsliding. Regional assessment

From a planning and management perspective, territorial authorities in many countries are required to make an assessment of the landslide hazard within their jurisdictions. The scale of this requirement generally precludes the use of detailed geotechnical investigations and stability analysis. Instead, other techniques are employed that require careful analysis of the terrain and use of existing information sources. Geographers have been at the forefront of regional landslide hazard assessment employing techniques such as terrain analysis, geomorphic mapping and geographical information systems (GIS) (Dikau 1989). Many different regional hazard assessment methods are currently in use (Varnes 1984; Crozier 1995), and

LANDSLIDES they can be classified by their approach into three groups: the parameter method, the stochastic historical method and the triggering threshold method. Parameter method

The parameter method requires a knowledge of the type, distribution and effectiveness of causative factors for different components of the terrain. The choice of which factors to investigate is deter mined from pr ior knowledge or by discriminating between the factors associated with stable and unstable terrain (Gee 1992). Commonly, the initial mapping or investigation units are areas homogeneous for important stability factors such as geology or slope angle. These may be analysed subsequently and perhaps subdivided by other stability factors. Experience can be used to provide a semi-quantitative weighting to stability factors (Sinclair 1992), and summed values can be obtained for ranking each class or areal unit. Usually, factors indicating the presence and activity of any existing landslides are weighted heavily as indicators of the degree of hazard. GIS are of particular value as a tool for analysis, synthesis and computation within the parameter approach to hazard assessment. Whereas the parameter method is the most common form of regional hazard assessment, it provides only a ranking of susceptibility—not true hazard. By itself, the method does not provide any indication of the probability of occurrence or the magnitude of landslide to be expected. Two examples of the parameter method are presented in Box 6.2. Stochastic historical method

One of the main difficulties with both stability analysis and the parameter method is the difficulty in obtaining accurate and representative values for the parameters involved. This is because many stability factors exhibit a high degree of spatial variability. The historical method, on the other hand, works on the principle of ‘precedence’, indicated by the record of previous landslide

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activity. This is both an advantage, because it does not rely on sample values, and a disadvantage, because to be of use in prediction, it assumes temporal stability in causative factors. Above all, the method demands a good database. Unfortunately, few countries have standard protocols and procedures for establishing reliable records of landslide activity. Consequently, in employing this approach, much original research of information sources is required, including information from media sources, public organisations, private consultants, etc. The record can be extended beyond the historical period by investigating landslide deposits in the geological record. For example, lake sediments in an unstable area of New Zealand have revealed the occurrence of 395 landslide events in the last 6000 years (Eden and Page 1998). By dividing the number of events by the per iod of observation, a histor ical frequency (probability of occurrence) can be determined for different regions. Triggering threshold method

The triggering threshold approach is more complex than other methods but has greater potential for forecasting landslide activity and determining the mass movement response to climatic change and other triggering factors. This approach couples the forcing process with a process response. For rainfall-triggered landslides, this involves establishing an initiating threshold between rainf all parameters and landslide occurrence (Julian and Anthony 1994; Crozier 1989) (Figure 6.3). For earthquake-triggered landslides, the threshold between non-occurrence and occurrence is usually either a function of shaking intensity or earthquake magnitude (Keefer 1984). Thresholds established in this way simply measure the susceptibility of the terrain under study to the landslide-triggering process. Clearly, inherent stability conditions and consequently thresholds will vary from place to place. A reliable regional threshold, however, may be used to determine the probability of occurrence (statistical frequency) of landslide activity by reference to the

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Box 6.2 Methods for regional hazard assessment Two parameter methods for regional hazard assessment are illustrated in summary form. Both methods require the selection of factors that are important in determining the level of hazard in the areas being studied. A number of factors are common to both methods, although expressed in different ways. These include the history of landsliding, the availability of susceptible material, and slope angle. Both methods are relatively easy to apply with limited expertise, and they both provide a simple but clear classification of landslide hazard in a form suitable for use by planners and land managers. The Tasmania method (Stevenson 1977; Figure 6.3) is hierarchical, with each of the parameters having a different level of importance. It takes the form of a decision tree, with each decision providing a subdivision of a higher-order class. It could, therefore, be used to map an area in anywhere from two to five hazard classes, depending on the resources available and level of detail required. Local knowledge and knowledge of previous landsliding has determined the type of parameters chosen and their relative importance.

The Montrose method (Moon et al. 1992; Table 6.2) is designed specifically to assess debris flow hazard in an area where there is a real threat but little recent history of debris flow. Consequently, the selection of parameters is more theoretically based. For example, areas with little outcrop are considered likely to provide a potential supply of debris, while landslides may actively feed into gullies where debris flows can be generated. Steep, high slopes, together with largevolume landslides, ensure a high volume and rapid supply of material to debris flow initiation sites. The hazard assessment classes are decided partly by judgement and partly objectively. Where all hazard factors are present in a catchment, the area is classified as ‘high’ or ‘very high’ hazard. The class ‘very high’ has particularly large volumes of modern landslides. To qualify as ‘medium’, parameters 1 and 2 must present some degree of hazard, along with hazard recorded for at least one of the other parameters. Other catchments not meeting these criteria are classified as ‘low’ hazard.

Figure 6.3 Tasmania hazard zonation scheme.

Source: Stevenson 1977.

LANDSLIDES

frequency-magnitude distribution of events for the triggering agent.

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RISK ASSESSMENT

Determining hazard is only one part of identifying the threat from landslides. Together with the hazard assessment in each area, there needs to be information on the elements and values that are at

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Source: Crozier 1989.

risk, and this in turn needs to be qualified by the vulnerability of those elements and values. Elements at r isk, in ter ms of tangible characteristics such as property, buildings and production values, are relatively easy to establish. However, experience has shown that many other short-term and long-term costs are associated with landslide activity (Crozier 1989). These may include expenditure on research and conservation measures, degradation of the soil resource and the consequent cumulative losses from pr imary productivity. Vulnerability is also difficult to measure and is very dependent on the nature of society affected. This may not just relate to technical factors but also to organisational factors and the distribution of wealth and power.

CONCLUSION

Geographers have a major role to play in landslide hazard and risk assessment. This is because, like all hazards, the risk results from the interrelationships between the human and physical environments— a traditional focus of geographical study. It is not an exclusive role, because there is always a need

for the specialists in areas such as soil physics, economics and eng ineer ing. However, geographers have also contributed to specialist areas of slope stability research by developing models and providing empirical information from field monitoring. The landslide process itself is a product of the interrelationships between a number of natural systems, including geological, geomorphological, hydrological, climatic and human land-use systems. Understanding landslides requires an ability to analyse the relationships between these systems. Geographers have been able to make a valuable contribution in this area because they generally examine a wide range of conditions within the landscape from a spatial and temporal perspective at a range of scales. Above all, geographers treat the process as a component of a human-physical system. This highlights not only the risk and vulnerability of society but also reveals the human factor as a cause of much slope stability.

LANDSLIDES GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Brabb, E.E. and Har rod, B.L. (eds) (1989) Landslides: Extent and Economic Significance. Balkema, 385 pp. Brunsden, D. and Prior, B. (eds) (1984) Slope Instability. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 620 pp. Dikau, R., Brunsden, D., Schrott, L. and Ibsen, M.L. (1996) Landslide Recognition: Identification, Movement and Causes. Chichester:Wiley, 251 pp. Turner, A.K. and Schuster, R.L. (1996) Landslides: Investigation and Mitigation. Transportation Research Board, Special Report 247, National Research Council, National Academy Press, Washington, DC, 657 pp.

REFERENCES Anderson, M.G., Kemp, M. and Lloyd, D.M. (1988) Application of soil water finite difference models to slope stability problems. Proceedings of the Fifth Inter national Landslide Symposium, Lausanne: 525–30. Crozier, M.J. (1984) Field assessment of slope instability. In D.Brunsden and D.B.Prior (eds) Slope Instability. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 103–40. Crozier, M.J. (1989) Landslides: Causes, Consequences, and Environment. London: Routledge. Crozier, M.J. (1993) Management issues arising from landslides and related activity. New Zealand Geographer 49 (1): 35–7. Crozier, M.J. (1995) Landslide hazard assessment: theme report. In D.H.Bell (ed.) Landslides: Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium, Christchurch, February 1992, 3: 1843–8. Crozier, M.J. (1996) Magnitude-frequency issues in landslide hazard assessment. In R.Mausbacher and A.Schulte (eds) Beitrage zur Physiogeographie. Barsch Festschrift, Heidelberger Arbeiten 104: 221–36. Crozier, M.J. (1997) The climate landslide couple: a Southern Hemisphere perspective. Paleoclimate Research 2: 329–50. Cooke, R.U. and Doornkamp, J.C. (1990) Geomorphology in Environmental Management (second edn). Oxford University Press. Coombs, D.S. and Norris, R.J. (1981) The East Abbotsford, Dunedin, New Zealand, landslide of August 8, 1979, an

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interim report. Bull. Liaison. Labo.P. et Ch. Special X, January 1981: 27–34. Dikau, R. (1989) The application of a digital relief model to landform analysis in geomorphology. In J.Raper (ed.) Three Dimensional Applications in Geographic Information Systems. London:Taylor & Francis, 51–77. Eden, D.N. and Page, M.J. (1998) Palaeoclimatic implications of a storm erosion record from late Holocene lake sediments, North Island, New Zealand. Palaeogeography, Palaeoclimatology, Palaeoecology 139: 37–58. Fairbr idge, R.W. (ed.) (1968) The Encyclopedia of Geomorphology. Reinhold Book Corporation. Gee, M.D. (1992) Classification of landslide hazard zonation methods and a test of predictive capability. In D.H.Bell (ed.) Landslides: Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium, Christchurch, February 1992, 2: 947–52. Hansen, M.J. (1984a) Strategies for classification of landslides. In D.Brunsden and D.B.Prior (eds) Slope Instability. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 1–26. Hansen, A. (1984b) Landslide hazard analysis. In D.Brunsden and D.B.Prior (eds) Slope Instability. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 523–602. Hutchinson, J.N. (1988) General report: morphological and geotechnical parameters of landslides in relation to geology and hydrogeology. Proceedings of the Fifth International Symposium on Landslides, 1, Balkema, 3–35. Julian, M. and Anthony, E.J. (1994) Landslides and climatic variables with specific reference to the Maritime Alps of southeastern France. In R. Casale, R.Fantechi and J.C.Flageollet (eds) Temporal Occurrence and Forecasting of Landslides in the European Community. European Community: 697–721. Keefer, D.K. (1984) Landslides caused by earthquakes. Bull. Geol. Soc.Am. 95 (4): 406–21. Moon, A.T., Olds, R.J., Wilson, R.A. and Burman, B.C. (1992) Debris flow risk zoning at Montrose, Victoria. In D.H.Bell (ed.) Landslides: Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium, Christchurch, February 1992, 2: 1015–22. New Zealand government (1980) Report of the Commission of Inquiry into the Abbotsford Landslide Disaster. Government Printer,Wellington. Selby, M.J. (1993) Hillslope Materials and Processes (second edn). Oxford University Press. Sharpe. C.F.S. (1938) Landslides and Related Phenomena. Pageant. Sidle, R.C., Pearce, A.J. and O’Loughlin, C.L. (1985) Hillslope Stability and Land Use. American Geophysical Union. Sinclair, T.J.E. (1992) SCARR: a slope condition and risk rating. In D.H.Bell (ed.) Landslides: Proceedings of the

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Sixth International Symposium, Christchurch, February 1992, 2: 1057–64. Stevenson, P.C. (1977) An empirical method for the evaluation of relative landslide risk. Int. Assn. Eng. Geol. Bull. 16: 69–72. Varnes, D.J. (1958) Landslides types and processes. In E.B.Eckel (ed.) Landslides and Engineering Practice. Highway Research Board Special Report 29, NASNRC Publication 544: 20–47.

Varnes, D.J. (1978) Slope movement and types and processes. In R.L.Schuster and R.J.Krizek (eds) Landslides: Analysis and Control. Trans portation Research Board Special Report 176, National Academy of Sciences, Washington DC, 11–33. Varnes, D.J. (1984) Landslide Hazard Zonation: A Review of Principles and Practice. UNESCO, Paris. World Landslide Inventory (1990) A suggested method for reporting a landslide. Bull. Int.Assn. Eng. Geol. 41, 5–12.

7 Floods Edmund Penning-Rowsell

INTRODUCTION

Of all the ‘natural’ hazards to which humans are exposed, floods are probably the most widespread and account for most damage and loss of life (Alexander 1993). Floods also appear to have a special impact on their victims, instilling a fear of the consequences that often exceeds their actual impacts (Green and Penning-Rowsell 1989). They also can have serious secondary impacts on the economy of the regions affected, and they can markedly influence agriculture in disaster-affected areas for some time after the event has passed, by affecting cropping patterns and yields, as dramatically is the case in Bangladesh (Alexander 1993). Geographers have studied the complexity of such flood hazards for many years and have made significant contr ibutions to their understanding, not least by tackling the interface between physical geog raphy and human geography that is highlighted in the flood situation by the complex relationships between human behaviour and extreme geophysical events. The foundation of such research was in the ‘Chicago’ school of hazard geography pioneered by White and others (Burton et al. 1978; 1993).This has been followed by the work of Hewitt (1997) and Mitchell (e.g. Mitchell et al. 1989) and elsewhere in the world in Australia (Smith 1999), New Zealand (Eriksen 1986), the UK (Penning-Rowsell et al. 1986; Arnell et al. 1984) and elsewhere (Chan and Parker 1996; Kanti Paul 1997, Pelling 1998). In addition, geographers have contributed to the hydrology of floods, mainly by evaluating the

impact of humans on flood regimes (Hollis 1988), through evaluating spatial flood patterns (Newson 1989) or understanding the geomorphology of floodplain processes (Anderson et al. 1996). From other disciplines has come the sociology of human group interaction in floods and other extreme events (Torry 1979), the psychology of behaviour under risk circumstances and of risk communication (Handmer and Penning-Rowsell 1990), and the configuration of institutions to tackle such hazard phenomena (Hood and Jones 1996). Many of the key debates centre on whether flood and other risk is socially determined rather than physically based, and whether risk is socially divisive (Beck 1992).

THE NATURE OF FLOODING AND FLOOD HAZARDS Flood types and mechanisms

Floods can be classified into fluvial, coastal and those that result from deficiencies in urban drainage. Fluvial floods occur when r iver discharge exceeds its bankfull capacity. The return period of out-of-bank flood flow is generally 2.3 years (Newson 1989), and the magnitude of floods and their probability of occurrence are strongly connected, although these relationships are regionally specific and depend on climatic conditions and river catchment character (ibid.). Coastal flooding occurs where tide levels exceed land levels, exacerbated by extreme wave conditions and by sea level surges caused by low-

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Box 7.1 Increased coastal flood hazard in Venice, Italy The historic city of Venice in northern Italy is one of the most famous cases of increasing flood threat. A combination of subsidence in the city and rising sea levels means that the frequency of flooding in St Marks Square in the city centre has risen from seven per year in 1900 to about fifty per year today. A major flood occurred in 1966, causing widespread damage (see below). Projections of sea level rise indicate that this frequency could rise to over 300 per year by the year 2050. Many solutions have been suggested, including a system of gates between the lagoon in which Venice is located and the Adriatic Sea (Bandarin 1994). However, these proposals are controversial in that they

appear to tackle only the symptoms of Venice’s many problems rather than their causes (Penning-Rowsell et al. 1998). They therefore may not solve the flooding problem in the long term—i.e. 50+years—and do not tackle the associated problems of pollution in the city and the Lagoon, the city’s declining population, and the decay of the ancient Venetian buildings. Even the local government Comune in Venice has voted against the proposals, which remained mired within the labyrinthine and corrupting Italian political system for years, until vetoed by the Italian Environment Minister in 1998: the problem remains unsolved.

Figure 7.1 Increasing flooding in Venice, 1926–93

pressure meteorological conditions. Changes in the relative height of land and seas caused by land subsidence or climate change-induced sea level rise also contribute to coastal flooding (Nicholls 1995). Tropical cyclones such as in Southeast Asia also contribute to flooding of coastal regions, as they bring onshore both extreme waves and intense rainfall. Flooding in urban areas away from the coast or major rivers occurs when summer thunderstorm conditions (or intense cyclonic rain) occur on urban catchments, where infiltration rates are reduced by paved surfaces. The result is rapid and almost complete runoff far exceeding the capacity of drainage and sewer systems. Without

deliberately designed storage ponds or other control systems for this runoff, it is liable to cause damage, especially in the basements of buildings or where underground railways or telecoms systems are at risk. More locally important flood-causing agents are ice-dammed rivers, dam and dike breaks, and tsunamis. In many of these instances, damage is extreme, caused by high water velocities and associated intense storm conditions. Flood extremes

Table 7.1 gives this data for the twenty-four most extreme floods as measured by their discharge

FLOODS

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Table 7.1 The twenty-four most severe floods worldwide.

Source: van der Leeden et al.

volumes (van der Leeden et al. 1990).This indicates a preponderance of cases in the USA (5), Japan (5), and East Asia and China (8). Figure 7.2 shows the strong correlation between flood magnitude and drainage basin size; the significant floods in world terms are generated by major rainfall events—or ser ies of events—over large catchments. In each of these cases, the flooding can last many weeks or months, not least when it

is the product of seasonal shifts in weather and climate patterns such as the El Niño phenomenon (Penning-Rowsell 1996). Because emergency relief procedures are now most more effective, conditions have changed since 50-100 years ago, when major floods caused massive loss of life (e.g. the Huang He floods in China in 1931 resulted in 3,700,000 deaths). Nevertheless, loss of life is still common, as in Italy

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Figure 7.2 The relationship between drainage basin area and extreme flood discharge.

Source: Rodier and Roche 1984.

in 1998 (135 confirmed deaths) and in Germany, Poland and the Czech Republic in 1997 (a total of 128 casualties in the three countries). And the damage from floods has increased through time as assets in floodplains have risen in value (Parker 1995). Concepts used to analyse flood hazards

The impacts of floods on humans has been studied from many different perspectives. The magnitude of flood events is usually related to their discharge in the fluvial context and the extent of coastal flooding. The risk of flooding brings in concepts of probability and return period (the average length of time in years between floods of comparable magnitude) (Hood et al. 1992). Hazard is a combination of the geophysical event (which by itself is not hazardous) and human vulnerability.The differential impacts of floods—and other

hazards—that come from differential vulnerability are often related to the damage inflicted by the flood event and the ability of flood victims to recover after the floods have subsided. This ability to recover—or resilience (Handmer and Dovers 1996)—is often related to the victims’ wealth/ poverty status, or their experience of similar flood events in the past, or a combination of these factors. The relationship between flood experience, the impacts of floods and the vulnerability of human populations generated the ‘school’ of hazard geography studying the ‘hazard-response model’ of human adjustment to many hazards (Burton et al. 1993, Mitchell et al. 1989, Hewitt 1997). This model, pioneered by Kates (1962), posits that the response of human populations to reduce the impacts of floods results from their heightened perception of the hazards that they face due to increased knowledge or experience. Without

FLOODS experience, the population’s perceptions of risk and hazard are low, and they do not respond. As a result, they suffer great damage when the floods come. But with experience the population learns to gauge the risk of flooding, and to respond proportionately. In effect, this is a ‘dose-response’ model dominated by the availability of information to the individual about the risk and hazard that they face and is derived from a paradigm that emphasises the choice of adjustments that individuals can make in reducing their own vulnerability. Criticisms of the hazard-response model are numerous. They point to the difficulty that people have in responding when they do not have the necessary resources (Tony 1979; Beck 1992), and also to different traditions in countries other than the USA, which emphasise the use of collective (state) action to reduce vulnerability within a welfare state tradition rather than relying on individuals (Parker and PenningRowsell 1983). Sociologists have stressed that some potential hazard victims cannot respond because they do not have the power to do so,

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and others have emphasised the way that risk creates social divisions between those who are vulnerable and those who are not (Beck 1992; Quarantelli 1998). The trend in conceptualisation is towards a recognition that hazard and risk are socially constructed (i.e. they are a product of society and the way that society is configured) rather than an emphasis on either physical processes or individual decision making and its determinants. In this respect, the study of hazards is maturing and bringing many different disciplines to bear in a complex mixture of the natural and social sciences. Flood alleviation strategies

A central theme in hazard geography has been the choice of hazard mitigation ‘adjustments’, because such choices illuminate the way in which humans and their hazardous environments interact. The conventional view is to differentiate between structural flood alleviation measures, principally concerned with engineering works, and ‘non-structural’ alternatives (Figure 7.3). Much Figure 7.3 Alternative flood alleviation strategies.

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Box 7.2 House raising as a flood alleviation strategy: an example from Australia Most attention is given by engineers and governments to flood alleviation strategies that involve major construction, but in many cases the individual can make adjustments to their property and behaviour to minimise flood damage potential. The example below shows a case of house raising in Lismore, NSW, Australia. Many hundreds of the town’s properties have been raised in this way, thus reducing the direct damage that the frequent flooding brings. The frequency of this flooding has approximately doubled in the fast fifty years along this north Australian coastline, and many of the houses were originally

constructed at ground level during a period of infrequent flood events. Research has shown that this house raising is a rational strategy for the individual house owner, in terms of the costs of the raising compared with the benefits of flood damage avoided (Penning-Rowsell and Smith 1987). The main problem that remains is that the households are isolated at times of flood, and this can cause distress and the dislocation of the inhabitants’ lives. They will also suffer poor access to medical and other facilities that may be needed in the days or weeks that the flood waters surround the building. Plate 7.1 House raising against flooding in Lismore, NSW, Australia. Both house were originally at ground level; the far one was raised 3 m to above flood levels.

criticism of the former approach focuses on the environmental damage that such works can bring, and the way that certain strategies—mainly levees— can create rising flood losses if they are overtopped or breached.The structural approach is generally reactive: a flood hazard has been created by human occupancy of a flood-affected area and needs to be tackled at the location of the hazard to prevent future flood damage, either by major engineering river works or with more minor schemes such as protecting individual properties. The non-structural alternatives are both reactive —flood relief and flood insurance being

classic examples—and pro-active. The latter is shown by land-use control measures either designed to reduce runoff through controlling flood flows high up in the catchments or by controlling land use in floodplain areas to deter ‘encroachment’ there of damageable property and vulnerable populations. In most circumstances, what is optimal in terms of damage reduction and the cost of the mitigation strategy is a combination of several measures, such as structural flood control backed up by warning and insurance systems, or land-use control supported by emergency relief.

FLOODS GAUGING THE URBAN FLOOD HAZARD IN MANCHESTER, UK Flooding mechanisms and impacts

The River Irwell rises in the hills above Bolton in Lancashire, UK, and flows southwestwards into the Mersey and the Irish Sea. The flood-generating mechanism is frontal rain on these hills from Atlantic winter depressions.The effect is flooding downstream in the Salford area of Greater Manchester (Figure 7.4). This flooding has been exacerbated because, first, the channel of the river was moved fifty years ago to allow for urban and industrial development, and second, because the river is now ‘hemmed in’ by low embankments to maximise the usable area of valuable land in a congested urban location. Some out-of-bank flooding nevertheless occurs at return periods as low as five years. The area has experienced some severe flooding in the past, notably in 1866, 1946, 1954 and 1980

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(see Figure 7.3). However, there is no recent history of significant flooding, and the residents and industrialists using the floodplain are generally very unaware of the risks that they face. As a consequence, and supporting the hazard-response model, there is very little attempt by the people at risk to protect themselves against future flooding. Many of the industrial properties are occupied by ephemeral ‘ethnic’ clothing manufactur ing businesses, thus exacerbating the general ignorance of flooding problems in the area. Damage potential

A survey has gauged the likely damage that would occur were the properties on the flood-plain to be flooded from flood severities up to and including the 250-year event. This survey was designed to assess the benefits of providing a range of flood protection measures, including major engineering works to the river and its floodplain, within a framework of investment appraisal that Figure 7.4 Flooding and flood hazard solutions for the River Irwell, Manchester, UK.

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compares the costs of such works with the benefits that they generate (Penning-Rowsell et al. 1994). The issue at stake here is whether a major scheme can be justified given the relative poverty of the population in this somewhat deprived area of northern Britain and the fact that such costbenefit analysis favours protecting richer people and more valuable property since their more valuable assets at risk from flooding generate higher calculated benefits against which to compare costs. Table 7.2 gives the results from this survey, and these are not untypical of similar calculations in other major urban areas. Up to 4823 properties could be damaged by a flood with a return period of 250 years, and up to 1000 properties could be affected by the fiftyyear event. Damage to these properties would be £94.5 million and £13.6 million, respectively.The majority of damage in the 250year event here would be suffered by householders (48 per cent) rather than the industrial concerns (11 per cent). For the fiftyyear flood, 73 per cent of the damage would be residential, since most of the industry is located at the upper margins of the floodplain. Engineering options and standards

By any standards, this is a serious flood problem, with over 4000 houses and probably 12,000 people at risk. Many would not be insured, since

insurance is often not taken up by those with lower than average incomes. A flood warning system is already in place, and the additional solutions proposed are limited to engineering schemes. However, these can be implemented at different standards and costs: Scheme A: Two flood storage basins in the floodplain, plus river channel works designed to give protection to 3269 properties against the 100-year event, costing £11.3 million. Scheme B: A single flood storage basin and the same river channel works, protecting approximately 2000 properties against the 74-year event and costing £7.1 million. Scheme C: Just the works to contain flood waters within a dredged and thereby enlarged channel, giving only a 1 in 39-year standard of protection, to only about 800 properties, but at a cost of only £2.9 million. Which gives better value for money? As part of government moves in Britain to control public expenditure, which in turn are a part of moves to rein back the role of the state, these schemes are subject to r igorous economic appraisal. Application of the decisions rules developed by the British government in association with Middlesex University (MAFF 1998) gives the results in Table 7.3.

Table 7.2 The potential flood damage to different land uses in the River Irwell floodplain.

FLOODS These results show that the marginal benefits of Scheme A exceed its marginal costs, such that the incremental increase in benefits is greater than the incremental increase in costs by a factor of 1.083. Scheme C by itself is the best value, but Scheme A is still highly worthwhile and provides the standard of protection appropriate to such a large and important urban area. A variant of Scheme A is being implemented.

THE FLOOD EMERGENCY IN NORTHERN EUROPE IN SUMMER 1997 The floods in context

The floods in Germany, Poland and the Czech Republic in 1997 caused immense dislocation and destruction, and significant loss of life. They must therefore represent one of the most serious flood events ever in Europe, comparable to (but not as serious as) the North Sea floods in 1953 (PenningRowsell and Fordham 1994). The flooding was more severe than any previously recorded for most locations along the River Oder, and was caused by rainfall events of exceptional rarity (Figure 7.5). The flood was unusual in that most of the previous ‘floods of

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record’ were winter rather than summer floods, as is usual in the region. Recent research for Green Cross UK (Penning-Rowsell 1998) showed that the economic impact was severe. This was especially the case in Poland, where 25 per cent of the country’s population was affected (Bednarz 1997); 23 per cent of the nation’s buildings are in the flood-affected regions, and 26 per cent of Poland’s GDP is generated there. Agriculture, transport, trade and tourism were the sectors most seriously affected.The reinsurance company MunichRe estimated that the losses in Poland and the Czech Republic reached 10 billion DM (£3.4 billion). The environmental impacts were also severe, mainly from chemical pollution spilled from flooded and damaged factories. In addition, many domestic sewage treatment works in the Polish area affected were destroyed, and large agricultural areas may be damaged for years to come. Strategic oil reserves in Poland unwisely located in storage tanks on the floodplain were also breached by the flood waters, and heavy metal contaminants resulting from industrialisation in the past were flushed from sediments within the Oder’s channel. The long-ter m effects of these dangerous pollutants are unknown.

Table 7.3 Economic appraisal of alternative flood alleviation standards for the River Irwell (£ million).

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Many Polish towns and cities were flooded.The political dimension to the events here was that some of these had been sited as new settlements on the floodplain as a strategic political move since 1945 to ensure that the border between Poland and Germany was well ‘defended’ through the area supporting a relatively dense population. The flood damage situation in Poland was also much more serious than in Germany because money was spent more quickly in Germany on repair and rehabilitation. Emergency procedures were often deficient. Counter ing the flood mostly focused on protecting the embankments bordering the river from breaching.The techniques were quite simply sandbags and earth-moving equipment. But there were significant inefficiencies and delays and, on the Polish side, local authority representatives waited in vain on occasions for the central government to act, due to long traditions of bureaucratic gover nance there dur ing the

Communist era. The embankments were successfully protected in most instances, although some were breached (e.g. just downstream from Frankfurt an der Oder). Much was done to restrict loss of life, but loss of life did occur. Contingency planning was rudimentary on both sides of the river, but this is perhaps not surprising given the rarity of the event and the lack of experience of this severity of flooding in the last twenty-five years. Lessons learned and future plans

The floods were poorly forecast. It is clear that many lessons have been learned with regard to the meteorological and hydrological systems involved in the flood forecasting and warning system.These are now being improved, although there will be difficulties here given the international character of the Oder (involving coordination across Poland, the Czech Republic and Germany).

FLOODS

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Figure 7.5 Flooding along the River Oder in Eastern Europe, summer 1997.

Lessons have also been lear ned by the emergency services, particularly about the need to restore and further protect the dykes. But it would not appear that lessons have been learned scheme might be ecolog ically damag ing. Alternaabout floodplain management or about pollution tive scenarios would restore the upper River storage in flood risk areas, since no plans are yet in preparation for new thinking here. What needs to be done is a more systematic approach to restrainembankments, and thereby decreasing the river’s ing encroachment of urban areas into the floodplain, and better contingency planning for the major floods that occur. As far as the environmental damage is concerned, it would also appear that no lessons have been learned and no data have been collected; priority has been given— perhaps understandably in the context—to humanitarian relief and economic recovery. One engineering ‘solution’ seeks to integrate the Oder with the west German navigation, and

thereby with the whole of the European inland waterway system, through the construction of river training works up the upper Oder to contain the flood waters in an enlarged channel. This could bring economic growth to southern Poland, since the Oder is cur rently not navigable by the barges using the European waterways. But such a Oder and its floodplain to a more natural state, perhaps by setting back the existing system of flood conveyance capacity, thus reducing the vulnerability of urban communities downstream, But much will depend on political will and on resources. Again the situation is worst in Poland, being a poorer country than Germany. A grant of US$300 million was provided to Poland by the World Bank after the 1997 floods, but even this apparently large sum is not likely to result in any significantly reconfigured river or major change in the way that the floodplain is used. Thus there is a real chance that floods like those in 1997 will recur and it is not clear that a coherent plan for

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flood damage mitigation will be in place soon enough to counter the damage and dislocation that will result.

political bargaining (Penning-Rowsell et al. 1998) and sometimes corrupt practices (PenningRowsell 1996).

CONCLUSIONS

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Natural hazards are complex interactions of social and physical forces, and cannot be understood fully without a multidisciplinary approach. The broad vision of the geographer can contribute significantly here, through having an understanding of physical processes, human impacts and the potential for sustainable plans and sensible action. The human dimension is that floods create social exclusion by demonstrating the separation of the ‘haves’, who receive support and protection, from the ‘have-nots’, who do not. On an international scale, this is shown by the huge national response to the damaging floods that occurred in the USA in 1993 compared with the relative neglect of the millions of people affected annually by floods in Bangladesh (Alexander 1993). In Poland and Germany, above, the same was true: the impoverished Poles suffered more than the affluent Germans. The physical dimension is that each flood has a different character and that ‘template’ solutions do not always apply. Physical space is limited. Solutions to many flood hazards are difficult to apply when people have unwisely occupied floodplain and coastal areas, because this means that there is insufficient room for the natural overflow of rivers on to floodplains without the damage and dislocation that this causes. But also, as with many natural hazards, floods are intensely political phenomena as well as being complex geophysical events. The political character of floods derives from the damage and loss of life that they cause, and governments and their agencies are called to account for these effects. Floods also create emergencies and the associated emotional circumstances when governments and international organisations spend money—on relief or alleviation measures. These resource flows can be the subject of intense

Alexander, D. (1993) Natural disasters. London: UCL Press.This is a comprehensive text on natural disasters, both from a human and a physical perspective, and on an international scale. Anderson, M.G., Walling, D.E. and Bates, P.D. (1996) Floodplain Processes. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons. An important collection of research material on the geomorphology of floods and floodplains. Beck, V. (1992) Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity, trans. M.Ritter. London: Sage. The ‘cutting edge’ of provocative 1990s thinking about risk and society. Hewitt, K. (1997) Regions of Risk: A Geographical Introduction to Disasters. London: Longman. A challenging account of the changing geographical conceptualisation of hazards and disasters. Kanti Paul, B. (1997) Flood research in Bangladesh in retrospect and prospect: a review. Geoforum 28(2), 121–31. This is an excellent synthesis of research in what must be the world’s most floodprone nation. Penning-Rowsell, E.C. and Fordham, M. (1994) Floods Across Europe: Hazard Assessment, Modelling and Management. London: Middlesex University Press. This volume surveys research at a European scale into the complex processes of risk assessment and flood hazard adjustment. Useful flood hazard-related web sites: http://www.yahoo.com/Science/Earth_Sciences/ Meteorology/Weather_Phenomena/Floods Provides up-to-date information and reports on major events around the globe as well as a selection of links to other sites dealing with floods. http://www.fema.gov/fema/flood.html The US Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) web pages on floods provide basic

FLOODS information about flood hazards and flood damage. http://www.dartmouth.edu/artsci/geog/floods The Dartmouth College Flood Remote Sensing Page is the home page of the Global Flood Monitoring and Analysis Project. http://www.floodplain.org Includes sections containing full-text articles, a calendar of upcoming events, an index of publications, and a list of US contacts in floodplain management. http://www.colorado.edu/hazards/sites/ sites.html The Natural Hazards Center at the University of Colorado, Boulder, USA, includes an extensive annotated list of useful sites on floods and other natural hazards. http://www.mdx.ac.uk/www/gem/fhrc.htm Middlesex University’s Flood Hazard Research Centre has information on flood damage, hazard mitigation strategies, river and water management, and lists of publications. http://www.environment_agency.gov.uk The Environment Agency has responsibility for flood defence in England and Wales. See this page for details of its role. http://www.cres.anu.edu.au The Centre for Resources and Environmental Studies (CRES) at the Australian National University is the foremost centre in the Southern hemisphere for flood hazard studies.

REFERENCES Arnell, N.W., Clark, M.J. and Gurnell, A.M. (1984) Flood insurance and extreme events: the role of crisis in prompting changes in British institutional response to flood hazard. Applied Geography 4, 167–81. Bandarin, F. (1994) The Venice project: a challenge for modern engineering. Proc. Inst. Civ. Eng. 102, 163–74. Bednarz, E. (1997) Poland after the flood. Warszawa September, 42–3. Burton, I., Kates, R.W. and White, G.F. (1978) The Environment as Hazard. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Burton, I., Kates, R.W. and White, G.F. (1993) The Environment as Hazard (2nd edition). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Chan, N.W. and Parker, D.J. (1996) Response to dynamic flood hazard factors in peninsular Malaysia. Geographical Journal 163(3), 313–25. Ericksen, N.J. (1986) Creating Flood Disasters? Water and Soil Miscellaneous Publication No. 77. Wellington, New Zealand: National Water and Soil Conservation Authority. Green, C.H. and Penning-Rowsell, E.C. (1989) Flooding and the quantification of intangibles. Journal of the Institution of Water and Environmental Management 3(1) 27–30. Handmer, J. and Dovers, S.R. (1996) A typology of resilience: rethinking institutions for sustainable development. Industrial and Environmental Crisis 9(4), 482–511. Handmer, J. and Penning-Rowsell, E.C. (eds) (1990) Hazard and the Communication of Risk. Aldershot, UK: Gower. Hollis, G.E. (1988) Rain, roads, roofs and runoff: hydrology in the cities. Geography 73, 9–18. Hood, C. and Jones, D.K.C. (eds) (1996) Accident and Design: Contemporary Debates in Risk Management. London: UCL Press. Hood, C., Jones, D.K.C., Pigeon, N.F.,Turner, B.A., Gibson, R., Bevan-Davies, C., Funtowicz, S.O., Horlick-Jones, T., McDermid, J.A., Penning-Rowsell, E.C., Ravetz, J.R., Sime, J.D. and Wells, C. (1992) Risk management. In Royal Society Study Group: Risk: Analysis, Perception and Management. London: Royal Society. Kates, R.W. (1962) Hazard and choice perception in floodplain management. Research Paper No. 78, Department of Geography, University of Chicago. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. MAFF (Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food) (1998) Project Appraisal Guidance. London: MAFF. Mitchell, J.K., Devine, N. and Jagger, K. (1989) A contextual model of natural hazard. Geographical Review 79(4), 391–409. Newson, M.D. (1989) Flood effectiveness in river basins: progress in Britain in a decade of drought. In K.Beven and P.Carling (eds) Floods: Hydrological, Sedimentological and Geomorphological Implications. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons pp. 151–69. Nicholls, R.J. (1995) Coastal megacities and climate change. GeoJournal 37(3), 369–79. Parker, D.J. (1995) Floodplain development policy in England and Wales. Applied Geography 15(4), 341–63. Parker, D.J. and Penning-Rowsell, E.C. (1983) Flood hazard research in Britain. Progress in Human Geography 7(2), 182–202. Pelling, M. (1998) Participation, social capital and vulnerability to urban flooding in Guyana. Journal of International Development 10, 469–86.

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Penning-Rowsell, E.C. (1996) Flood hazard in Argentina. Geographical Review 86(1), 72–80. Penning-Rowsell, E.C. (1998) The Floods in Poland and Ger many in 1997. London: Green Cross UK (University of Kingston upon Thames). Penning-Rowsell, E.C., Chatterton, J.B. and Winchester, P. (1994) River Irwell Flood Control Scheme: Benefit-Cost Assessment. London: Middlesex University Flood Hazard Research Centre. Penning-Rowsell, E.C., Parker, D.J. and Harding, D.M. (1986) Floods and Drainage: British Policies for Hazard Reduction, Agricultural Improvement and Wetland Conservation. London:Allen & Unwin. Penning-Rowsell, E.C. and Smith, D.I. (1987) Selfhelp flood hazard mitigation: the economics of house-raising in Lismore, N.S.W., Australia. Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie 78(3), 176–89.

Penning-Rowsell, E.C., Winchester, P. and Gardiner, J.L. (1998) New approaches to sustainable hazard management forVenice. Geographical Journal 164(1), 1–18. Quarantelli, E.L. (ed.) (1998) What is a Disaster? Perspectives on the Question. London: Routledge. Rodier, J.A. and Roche, M. (1984) World Catalogue of Maximum Observed Floods. Wallingford, UK: International Association of Hydrological Sciences (publication 143). Smith, D.I. (1999, in press) Water in Australia: Resources and Management. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Torry, W.I. (1979) Hazards, hazes and holes: a critique of ‘The Environment as Hazard’ and general reflections on disaster research. Canadian Geographer 23(4), 368–83. van der Leeden, F.,Troise, F. and Todd, D.K. (1990) The Water Encyclopedia. Michigan, USA: Lewis.

8 Coastal erosion Tom Spencer

INTRODUCTION

In 1985, Bird reported on a project undertaken by the Inter national Geographical Union’s Commission on the Coastal Environment: this found 70 per cent of the world’s sandy coastline undergoing net erosion. As 60 per cent of the global population (or nearly 3 billion people) live in the planet’s coastal zones, and two-thirds of the world’s cities with populations of 2.5 million or more are located in open coast or estuarine locations (Viles and Spencer 1995), Bird’s (1985) statistic identifies a major environmental issue. It is an issue already strongly imprinted on many local, and national, consciences. Strong conflicts can arise in the tackling of coastal erosion between local residents; local, regional and national regulatory bodies and interest groups; and consultant scientists: the interaction of physical processes and economic, social and political forces makes coastal erosion a strongly geographical problem. Furthermore, any coastal study must take account of the great diversity of coastal settings and of the role of environmental change over the last 10,000 years in determining contemporary shoreline morphology (see Box 8.1). There has been a growing concern in the last decade that coastlines are at risk and under pressure.Two broad sets of processes, both potentially accelerating, have been identified. The first set concerns the impact of sea level rise over the next 100 years consequent upon human-induced global climate change.The figure of c. 100–150 cm of sea level change by AD 2100

is still widely found in the literature, but current ‘best guess’ estimates for this period are 49 cm, a considerable downward revision on earlier figures (see Warrick et al. 1996 for detailed discussion and French et al. 1995a for geomorphological and ecological implications). However several caveats should be applied to this apparently comforting reduction. First, very large uncertainties remain in the predictions of global environmental change. Second, it is not clear how the primary effect of sea level rise might influence a range of secondary effects, such as changing tropical cyclone magnitudes and frequencies and mid-latitude wave climates, which might in themselves have greater impact on coastal communities than sea level rise per se. Third, although the expected sea level rise for the next 100 years is now much lower than previously envisaged, it still represents a significant increase on the previous 100 years.The magnitude of expected sea level rise converts to an average rate of sea level rise of 4.5 mm a-1. Although it is difficult to provide a single figure for the rate of sea level rise over the last 100 years, Warrick et al. (1996) suggest an average rate of rise of 1.8 mm a-1. Thus future rates are currently expected to be 2.5 times those of the last 100 years. Any future sea level change will be played out against the backdrop of the second set of major processes to affect the world’s coastlines. This is the creation of highly modified, ‘artificial’ shorelines as a result of long-continued, but now larger-scale, human modification and utilisation of the coastal zone.Typically 30–40 per cent of open coasts in developed countries (e.g. USA, England, Japan) have protection against flooding, erosion

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Box 8.1 Coastal classification and coastal erosion Coastal dynamics, including erosion, are controlled at the large scale by two sets of factors, one historical (in the broadest sense) and one contemporary. In the first, coastal type is controlled by plate tectonic setting, and this provides a broad emergence/submergence categorisation. This in turn is overlain by more immediate historical factors, particularly the nature of sea level change over the last 10,000 years of the postglacial transgression. Site-specific variations in sea level in this period have resulted from the varying contribution of regional isostatic (affecting the movement of land surfaces) and global eustatic (affecting the volume of the oceans) factors to sea level change. Thus the different sea level histories of, for example, Australia, where present sea level was reached 6000 years ago, and Arctic Canada, where sea levels have been falling since the start of the deglaciation, are a component in explaining shoreline morphology. This historical backdrop is then worked upon by current global variations in wave energy, tidal regime and, for vegetated coastal ecosystems, biogeographic patterns and processes. In 1952, Valentin brought these factors together in an elegant coastal classification scheme. In Valentin’s diagram, the y axis represents the historical and the x axis the contemporary components. Varying combinations of these two factors give coastal advance or retreat. The solid line running through the centre of the diagram from top left to bottom right separates all retreating coastlines (bottom left) from all advancing ones (top right).

and navigation hazard (Nordstrom 1994), with this figure reaching close to 100 per cent in some localities (e.g. the coastline of Belgium). The profound implications of these engineering structures for coastal processes and erosion are discussed below. This chapter takes the view that dealing with coastal erosion requires an assessment of its position in the wider scheme of coastal dynamics (erosion is just one component of a sedimentary budget for any coastline) and that only by understanding, and allowing for, changing coastal position will tr uly sustainable coastal management be achieved.This review, limited by space, concentrates upon problems on sandy and muddy coastlines in the developed world (Plate 8.1); however, the pressures generated by coastal erosion in developing countries are enormous. Thus, for example, in Bangladesh a huge and rapidly growing, poor, rural population must contend, not only with a tectonically active, highly mobile floodplain coast, subject to both major riverine floods and catastrophic storm surges, but also the environmental problems resulting from the constr uction of hardengineered flood defence lines imposed by external agencies (e.g. Brammer 1993). The diverse coastal problems faced by developing countries are well covered by Nicholls and Leatherman (1995).

Plate 8.1 A developed coast: Waikiki, Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands. How does one devise a sustainable coastal management strategy for such a coastline? (photograph: T.Spencer).

COASTAL EROSION THE NATURE OF THE PROBLEM

Beaches and their adjacent nearshore zones are highly effective buffers to incoming wave energy, with offshore bathymetry reducing incident wave energy by 95–99 per cent (Carter and Woodroffe 1994). As the ratio of force to resistance is high, and changing inputs result in demonstrable morphological change, the application of a process-based approach to coastal studies (largely promulgated through oceanography, coastal engineering and sedimentology rather than geomorphology) has been highly successful, developing from the studies of the Beach Erosion Board in the United States in the immediate postSecond World War period and reaching its fullest expression in the encyclopaedic Shoreline Protection Manual (CERC 1984). Thus the forecasting of deep-water wave conditions from meteorological and other var i-ables, the modification of deep-water waves by nearshore bathymetry, the nature of breaking waves, and water and sediment movements within the breaker zone are now well known (e.g. Komar 1976). The changing state of intertidal and shallow subtidal nearshore profiles has long been recognised, with the use of such terms as ‘winter’ and ‘summer’ beaches (e.g. Shepard’s (1950) classic studies in southern California) or ‘storm’ and ‘swell’ profile types (Komar 1976). The idea of shifts between equilibrium beach states has proved particularly attractive when extended to the possible effects of sea level rise. In particular, the

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so-called ‘Bruun rule’ (Bruun 1962; Dean 1991) has proved to be a flawed but remarkably persistent concept. It begins from the premise that there is an equilibrium depth of water offshore. With sea level rise, water depth increases and sea bed deposition must take place to restore the equilibrium depth; this is achieved by shore erosion and shoreline retreat (Figure 8.1). These parameters can be easily cast into simple mathematical for m and thus the degree of shoreline shift calculated from estimates of sea level rise. Despite the difficulty of establishing both upper and, particularly, offshore points of closure for studied profiles; of accepting sudden rather than progressive changes in sea level; and in the absence of allowing for longshore processes in controlling profile characteristics, (and see Pilkey et al. 1993, for example, for additional problems) the Bruun rule has been widely quoted, albeit usually with reference to a Great Lakes study, where the local geology, topography, bathymetry and lake climate are peculiar and not easily transferable to open coasts. More sophisticated analyses have attempted to establish what associations exist between beach states and breaking wave characteristics; what the range of these states might be; and how the rate and direction of change between states might be predicted. Largely through the efforts of the ‘Australian School’, six characteristic domains have been identified (Figure 8.2). The term ‘reflective’ describes one end-member: steep, narrow, coarsegrained beaches, often typified by rhythmical longshore topography, where wave energy is

Figure 8.1 The ‘Bruun Rule’. On sea level rise (sea level 1 to 2) sediment is transferred from the shoreface sediment store (V1) to the nearshore zone (V2) to reestablish an equilibrium water depth. The coastline will retreat (R) until stability is reestablished. Point D is the ‘closure depth’, the outer limit of profile adjustment. Source: After Bird 1993.

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NATURAL AND ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARDS Figure 8.2 Plan and profile configurations of the six major beach states observed on the Australian coast. a = dissipative; b=longshore bar-trough; c=rhythmic bar and beach; d = transverse bar and rip; e=ridge runnel; f=reflective. Source: After Wright and Short 1984.

Source: After Wright and Short 1984.

COASTAL EROSION reflected back from the shore and trapped inside the breaker zone. At the other extreme, ‘dissipative’ beaches exhibit low-angle, wide, finergrained surf zones that strongly attenuate incoming wave energy (Wright and Short 1984; Masselink and Short 1993). Examination of long time-series has shown that these end-member states are quite rare and unstable and that most moderate- to high-energy coasts alternate between the four intermediate domains (Wright et al. 1985; and see Sonu and James (1973) for transition matrices and Markov chain modelling of these processes). Useful though this morphodynamic approach has proved, it is best suited to relatively short-term coastal behaviour and has rarely been extended along long stretches of coastline. In this regard, the concept of the coastal or littoral cell, open to energy throughflow but more closed with respect to sediment transfers, becomes of particular value (Carter and Woodroffe 1994). Cell boundaries may be fixed at topographic limits (such as headlands, estuaries or deltas) or, more contentiously, be mobile with free boundaries delimited by shore-parallel wave flux or littoral drift rates (Carter 1988) on open coasts. As wave directions change on such shorelines, so cell structure changes with migrations and mergings (Figure 8.3; ibid.). Over time, cells may reach a static equilibrium, either the coast being in all places parallel to the approaching wave refraction (or ‘swash-aligned’), or where longshore currents are nullified (‘drift-aligned’) or where beach sediments are graded in such a way that the threshold for particle entrainment is never reached (ibid.). However, most cells exhibit patterns of sediment exchange over time, between beaches and beach ridge and dune systems, between estuaries and coasts, and between coastal and offshore environments. These exchanges may be formalised through the calculation of sediment budgets, although this is easier in theory than in practice; few published budgets appear to balance. As one moves into larger temporal scales, then the role of extreme events becomes important: thus at Moruya Beach, southeast Australia, the ‘normal’ range of beach response was forced into

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Figure 8.3 Variations in coastal cell structures and boundary positions with varying wave approach, Magilligan Point, Northern Ireland.

Source: After Carter 1988.

a quite different state, from which recovery took six years (Thom and Hall 1991). However, this work still suggests some form of equilibrium. Recent research, however, has begun to investigate the idea that shoreline behaviour may be nonlinear (e.g. Phillips 1992), focused around a set of ideas under the heading of large-scale coastal behaviour (LSCB; de Vriend et al. 1993), applied to timescales of decades and distances of tens of kilometres where boundary conditions are set by geological time (and refer back to Box 8.1).Where high-quality data sets are available, such as the Dutch JARKUS bathymetric database, such approaches really begin to provide a rigorous, detailed picture of the space-time complexities in the nearshore zone (Wijnberg and Terwindt 1995) and, by implication, erosion and deposition patterns at the shore. Cells, and sediment movements within and between cells, provide a useful framework within

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which to consider human disruptions to natural processes. Sand mining (Earney 1990) removes sediments directly, for building aggregates, soil improvement and precious-mineral mining (e.g. diamond mining on the Namibian coast). However, the most pervasive influence at the coast is the interference between onshore-offshore and alongshore processes and nearshore structures. Coastal morphodynamics tells us that beach profiles expand and contract with changing wave energy inputs. However, the emplacement of sea walls prevents the natural expansion of the shore profile to a fully dissipative state under storm conditions. Large volumes of water on beaches lead to a dominance of backwash, sediment downcombing and landslide-like failure of saturated beach sediments. The resultant narrowing and lowering of beaches backed by structures by comparison with profiles on adjacent nondefended shores has been extensively documented (e.g. Kraus and Pilkey 1988; Louisiana, USA: Nakashima and Mossa 1991; Texas, USA: Morton 1988). As beach sediment loss continues, so walls are threatened by undermining, so initiating a cycle of progressively larger defences with bases to lower and more seaward levels on the shore profile (e.g. history of sea walls at Porthcawl, UK: Carter 1988). A further problem is that accelerated erosion is often characteristic of the downdrift end of a defence structure; the temptation, therefore, is to extend the structure progressively downdrift, ultimately until perhaps hundreds of kilometres of coastline are so protected. Elsewhere in alongshore directions, patterns of deposition and erosion result from the interruption of longshore sediment transport; these are well known (see Viles and Spencer 1995 for review). Jetties (shore-normal structures that extend seawards beyond the breaker zone) induce updrift accumulation and downdrift erosion. More shoreward, on the beach itself, shore-normal groynes are used to conserve remaining beach volumes or capture sediments moving alongshore. Groyne fields can similarly lead to problems of down-drift erosion, although once ‘full’, longshore drift is re-established as sediment bypasses the structure at either its landward or seaward limits. Groyne fields are thus

an essential component in beach conservation on many coasts (e.g. UK: Bray et al. 1992; Japan: Walker and Mossa 1986). A rather different interruption to longshore drift occurs with the presence of offshore breakwaters: these reduce wave energy, and thus longshore sediment transport rates, leading to sediment accumulation in their lee (and the need for dredging at port and harbour installations). The frequent consequence of this humaninduced erosion is to attempt to alleviate such problems by artificially re-establishing natural sediment movements. Examples include the pumping of sediments across inlets to maintain downdrift sediment transport (e.g. Fort Worth, Texas, USA) and the dredging and dumping of offshore sediments to replenish beaches deprived of sediment supply by updrift barriers (e.g. Santa Barbara, California, USA). In recent decades, beach nourishment schemes have become a particularly favoured solution to beach volume loss (see following section). However, such activities must also be seen in the context of sediment delivery to coastlines. Estimates for contemporary fluvial inputs to the coastal zone are not well known, but perhaps 10–15 per cent of the total input of 1016–17 t may contribute to coastal aggradation. Regional variations are great, partly controlled by plate tectonic controls on drainage basin characteristics and partly by climatic regime (Milliman and Meade 1983; Milliman and Syvitski 1992). However, a further set of controls has been, and continues to be, human activity within feeder drainage basins. The timing and style of catchment modification has played an important role in determining sediment supply and coastline response. Thus, for example, in the Mediterranean, it appears that the sediment pulse was initiated in pre-Classical times and accelerated with Greco-Roman landscape modification—thus northern Mediterranean shores have been largely fossil for a thousand years or more (Vita-Finzi 1964) and consequently heavily managed to retain what sediment is present. The sediment flush/sediment starvation pulse in North America has been much more recent (IGBP 1993). Even more recently, in Egypt,

COASTAL EROSION the earlier expansion of the Nile delta has been replaced by rapid recession with the removal of sediment supply following the completion and closure of the Aswan High Dam in 1964 (Stanley and Warne 1993). Finally, at the present time, tropical deforestation is creating the latest geographical focus in the developing tropics for sediment pulses and coastal progradation. It seems likely that the familiar pattern of shoreline problems will follow: initial difficulties with navigation and siltation as river sediments disrupt coastal settlements and infrastructure; the construction of sediment control measures; and the erosion that follows the combination of the cessation of accelerated sediment inputs and the interference from structures in the natural processes of sediment redistribution.

CASE STUDIES Coarse sediments

It is clear from the preceding discussion that a substantial beach is an excellent form of coastal defence and that there are considerable management benefits from maintaining or improving a beach frontage through beach nourishment/ replenishment. The advantages of this approach are three-fold. First, such natural defences are morphodynamically active and hence can adjust to changing wind and wave conditions in a way that is not possible for a fixed defence line. Second, reduced wave run-up and flooding behind defence lines, as a result of wave energy reflection or dissipation, is achieved without the need to emplace sediment-retaining structures, which then create down-coast sediment starvation and erosion problems. Third, beach nourishment often provides the additional benefit of recreating a valuable recreational and amenity asset. The attractiveness of this for m of shoreline improvement to operating authorities can be seen from the rapid increase in the adoption of nourishment schemes, first introduced in the USA in the 1920s, from the 1970s onwards (Pilkey 1995). However, the performance of individual

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beach replenishment efforts has been mixed (Davidson et al. 1992) and not all these differences can be explained by large-scale reg ional differences in shoreline type or sea level change (Leonard et al. 1990).Thus, of 110 such schemes in the Gulf of Mexico, 23 per cent were found to have persisted for over five years, 54 per cent for one to five years and 23 per cent for less than one year (Dixon and Pilkey 1989). It is instructive to look at failed beach nourishment projects; many identify a lack of knowledge of coastal geomorphology as a key component in failure.The great majority of beach nourishment schemes are undertaken because of the loss of the existing beach; thus it is essential to know why the beach is being eroded and where the sediment sink is located, whether to landward, to seaward or alongshore. Thus any individual beach must be set in its regional context, in terms of both shoreline morphology (both natural and artificial) and wind, wave and tidal regimes (including the role, if any, of extreme events). Such pre-planning should help to determine the nature, volume and location of sediment emplacement. A second lesson from scheme failure is the need to monitor the performance of beach recharge after emplacement, as the following case study illustrates. Bournemouth beach, southern England

Bournemouth beach forms the central section of the 30 km long broad embayment of Poole Bay on the coast of southern England (Figure 8.4A). The predominant wave direction is from the southwest, coinciding with the maximum fetch from the Atlantic Ocean.The bay is backed by low, erodible cliffs stabilised to varying degrees; the characteristic beach sediment is fine sand to the west, but it coarsens to gravels towards Hengistbury Head in the east (May 1990). The town of Bournemouth relies upon its sandy beaches to help to sustain an economically important tourist industry and has traditionally used the standard coastal protection measures of seawalls and groyne fields to prevent urban flooding and retain beach sediments, respectively.

Figure 8.4 Beach replenishment at Bournemouth: (A) location map with numbered coastal groynes; beach profiles fall within this groyne field; (B) changes in monitored and predicted beach volumes, derived from detailed beach profile data set, and determination of critical beach volumes under different sea-level rise scenarios (see text for further discussion).

Source: After Harlow and Cooper 1996.

COASTAL EROSION However, in the 1960s this system began to fail, with falling sea levels and increasing damage to seawall structures. A pilot beach nourishment scheme (Beach Improvement Scheme (BIS) 1) was implemented in 1970, with 84.5×10 3 m 3 of dredged sand emplaced along a 1.8 km frontage. This was followed by a large-scale scheme (BIS 2) in 1974–75, when 654×10 3 m 3 of sand was pumped directly onto beaches over an 8.5 km frontage, with an estimated additional 749× 103 m3 of material, as ‘leakage’ from the pumping process, being deposited in the shallow nearshore zone. A third emplacement (BIS 3) was undertaken between 1988 and 1990, adding 999× 103 m3 of fill dredged from the entrance to Poole Harbour (Harlow and Cooper 1996). The reasons for this third phase of beach replenishment are clear from the synthesis of data on beach dynamics gathered from almost forty beach profile lines on some fifty occasions since 1974 (Figure 8.4B).The total beach volume increased from a minimum of 6×106 m3 in 1975 to a peak of 7.7×106 m3 in 1979 as a result of both the direct emplacement of beach material and the onshore migration of ‘leaked’ material. Thereafter, beach volume decreased to 6.9×106 m3 in 1988, the accompanying narrowing of the beaches and the onshore migration of the mean high water mark necessitating the BIS 3 scheme.This restored beach volume to over 8×106 m3 in 1990. By late 1993, beach volume had decreased to 7.9×106 m3, suggesting the necessity for the next phase of beach replenishment, with a factor included for potential near-future sea level rise, before 2003 (Figure 8.4B). The important conclusion from this study is the need for not only sensible preemplacement planning of nourishment but also the value of ongoing monitoring once emplacement has taken place. Monitoring must be regular and sustained to establish trends in beach volume change from the high degree of variability between successive individual surveys, and extend far enough offshore to encompass shallow subtidal as well as intertidal changes. It is only through an ongoing management commitment of this kind that the technique of beach nourishment can be ‘fine-tuned’ for optimal performance, thus avoiding the traditional, and costly, crude design

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practice of ‘over-filling’ (often by 40 per cent; Verhagen 1992) nourished beaches to allow for unmonitored losses. Fine sediments

It is not only beaches that provide important natural coastal buffer zones. Intertidal mudflats and vegetated mangrove swamps and salt marshes also perform similar energy-dissipating functions (Pethick 1992). At the coastal scale, salt marshes within estuaries reduce tidal range and flooding potentials through frictional drag on water sufaces and by allowing the high tide stage of water on marsh surfaces (Burd 1995). Recent field measurements have shown that marsh surfaces can dissipate between 47 and 99 per cent of incident wave energy over distances of 200 m or less (Moeller et al. 1996), thus reducing wave run-up and overtopping risk on marsh-fronted sea defences. However, on many coasts land reclamation has at worst removed and at best reduced the width of such fronting marshes. Furthermore, there is evidence in many localities that remaining marshes have been subjected to accelerated loss in recent decades, perhaps as a result of sea level rise. On natural coastlines, marshes will migrate landwards as sea level rises to maintain their position in the tidal frame. However, on protected coastlines, this migration is prevented by a landward defence line, and marsh volumes cannot be preserved. The loss of fronting salt marsh both results in increased wave action against the defence and removes mechanical support from its toe; the likelihood of undermining and collapse thus generates a demand for costly re-engineering of the defence line. However, an alternative approach is that provided by ‘managed retreat’ (also known as ‘coastal setback’ or ‘shoreline realignment’) whereby the defence line is repositioned in a more landward position. Such schemes are attractive for physical reasons, as they create an immediate energy-dissipating zone in front of the new defence line, and for ecological/conservation reasons, as replacement inter tidal habitat

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compensates for tidal wetlands lost elsewhere. At the present time, therefore, managed retreat trials are being implemented in several locations, including the UK and the Californian and Pacific northwest coasts of the USA. In the UK, the county of Essex in eastern England is protected by 430 km of seawalls, a defence system strengthened in the aftermath of the disastrous floods of 1953 but one now reaching the end of its design life. Some 60 per cent of these seawalls are protected by fronting salt marsh, but erosion of these marshes has accelerated since the 1970s. Thus several managed retreat trials, including monitoring studies on water, sediment and nutrient exchanges; soil physical and chemical changes; vegetation re-establishment; and sedimentation/accretion processes, are being undertaken in this region. One such experiment is at Tollesbury Fleet on the Blackwater estuary, a 21 ha site re-flooded in August 1995 after a controlled breach of the old sea wall (Plate 8.2). A former drainage channel to a now defunct sluice on the eastern side of the site divides the site into a lower, northern area previously sown with clover from a higher, sloping southern area formerly under cereal crops (Figure 8.5). There are considerable unknowns as to the long-term performance of such schemes. One

crucial set of questions revolves around the observation that usually new tidal exchange reactivates former salt marsh surfaces converted to agricultural use on enclosure from the sea. Dewatering, compaction and soil chemistry changes on isolation from the mar ine environment mean that re-flooded surfaces are likely to be much altered from natural marsh surfaces (Portnoy and Giblin 1997). Furthermore, neighbouring marshes outside reclaimed areas will have continued to accrete vertically, and thus there are likely to be height differences— perhaps of the order of 1.0–1.5 m in systems dominated by inorganic sediments (Pethick and Burd 1995)— between higher natural and lower reactivated marsh surfaces. One of the challenges for managed retreat site design, therefore, is to ensure that these height differences are eliminated by rapid sedimentation. This can only be achieved through a proper understanding of salt marsh development processes and how they can be manipulated for management purposes. At Tollesbury, natural rates of elevation change, measured on naturally vegetated salt marsh surfaces outside the managed retreat site, have averaged c. 5 mm a -1 since monitoring began in 1995 (sites 1 and 2, Figure 8.5;Table 8.1), a figure consistent with the surfaces keeping pace with local estimated sea level rise Plate 8.2 Managed realignment of an estuarine shoreline: Tollesbury Fleet, Blackwater estuary, Essex, England. The view is bisected by the now breached old seawall defence line. To the left foreground, natural salt marsh is just being flooded by the rising tide. To the right in the distance, small boats have sailed through the breach into the lower, already well-flooded managed retreat site (photograph: T.Spencer).

COASTAL EROSION

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Figure 8.5 Location of Tollesbury Fleet managed retreat site. Station numbers refer to Table 8.1.

(M.Herman, personal communication 1998). Inside the site, rates of elevation change have been highly variable (Table 8.1); how might these differences be explained?

In marsh systems where vertical accretion is largely driven by externally derived inputs of inorganic sediments (as opposed to peatdominated tidal marshes, where in situ decomposition and

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Table 8.1 Average rates of surface elevation change, 1995–7, outside and inside the managed retreat site at Tollesbury Fleet, Blackwater estuary, Essex, UK.

Notes: *See Figure 8.5 for station locations. **Negative numbers indicate surface lowering. Work forms part of an ongoing collaborative project with the US Geological Survey (Dr D.Cahoon), Louisiana Universities’ Marine Consortium (Dr D.J.Reed) and University College, London (Dr J.R.French).

accumulation of organic material is the prime input), studies of long-term marsh development show rapid vertical height gains, which slow with time (often after c. 100 years) as progressively higher marsh surfaces are flooded by fewer and fewer tidal incursions (French 1993). Within this behaviour, however, recent studies at single-tide to tidal-monthly timescales have been able to resolve the smaller-scale detail of sedimentation dynamics (e.g. French et al. 1995b; Leonard 1997), showing that proximity to tidal feeder channels, or ‘creeks’, is a prime control on patterns of sediment deposition. Thus one way to increase sediment delivery to, and within, a managed retreat site may be to consider either the reexcavation of old tidal creeks or to construct a new network of artificial creeks, taking design rules from fluvial geomorphology. As salt marsh channels also aid plant establishment through substrate drainage and dewatering, then such approaches should be seriously considered (French 1995). However, such work does need to be undertaken with care: poorly designed networks may promote erosion rather than sedimentation (e.g. Haltiner et al. 1997), and channel design may also have implications for withinchannel hydrodynamics and nutrient exchanges (e.g. Emmerson et al. 1997). At Tollesbury, it appears that one of the problems of site design is the

difficulty with which the remoter parts of the site receive sediment inputs (see Figure 8.5,Table 8.1). Continued monitoring over the next few years should provide interesting infor mation on changing temporal and spatial patter ns in sedimentation and on plant establishment and subsequent vegetation dynamics. Finally, and while the above discussion has concentrated upon the need to better understand the internal dynamics of managed retreat sites, it should be recognised that the wider uptake of such schemes, and the establishment of progressively larger managed retreat areas, will generate a need to understand how such schemes will impact on broader-scale, whole-estuary hydrodynamics and sedimentation.

CONCLUSIONS

It should be clear from this review that there are fundamental discrepancies between the way in which many coastlines have been modified and subsequently maintained and the way in which natural processes operate; these discrepancies often manifest themselves in severe coastal erosion problems. These difficulties are bad enough without the additional problems introduced by administrative frameworks that tend to fragment coastal management into small units and support local interests above regional and larger-scale concer ns. Countr ies, and indeed reg ional economic groupings, should therefore in the first instance work towards larger-scale, integrated coastal management plans. Clearly with limited resources, some form of prioritisation will be required. This must, for any extensive stretch of coastline, decide between one of three strategies: 1 2

‘Hold the line’ by providing robust and reliable defences; ‘Accommodate’ shoreline change by allowing continued occupancy but with adaptive measures, including adjustments to periodic flooding by modifying buildings and access routes or by the acceptance of periodic inundation; and

COASTAL EROSION 3

‘Managed realignment’ of the coastline by progressively abandoning land and defence structures and recreating ecologically valuable intertidal habitats previously lost through coastal erosion.

Until now, for political reasons there has been a marked reluctance for governments at all levels in developed countries to embrace option 3. However, the huge cost of strengthening existing sea defences in the face of accelerated sea level rise over the next century may force this option to be considered more seriously than hitherto. If so, then the coastal geomorphologist should have an important role to play in formulating the design rules for new, ‘semi-natural’ coastlines by building into them an understanding of the space-time dynamics of coastal processes. The wider social and economic evaluation of all these options is, of course, not straightforward. Evaluations are strongly time- and area-specific: thus, for example, a scheme that may be sustainable on a twenty-year planning horizon may not be acceptable on a two-year timescale, and action that may be sensible in the context of regional shoreline change may produce unacceptable local impacts. Implementation will also bring with it a need to prioritise coastal management options on a year-to-year basis; one way to establish a priority list would be to evaluate levels of risk for coastal communities. In addition, there will be a need for the formulation of long-term adaptive policies to lessen the risk to persons and property from flooding and coastal erosion. Such plans will need to offer compensation to those individuals who sacrifice property and land assets in order to improve natural flood defence elsewhere. The building of such a framework will clearly be a major challenge at the start of the twenty-first century for all those concer ned with understanding coastal landscapes and their peoples.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Two well-organised and well-argued texts on coastal geomorphological processes are those by

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Komar (1976) and Pethick (1984), although both are now starting to show their age. Carter (1988) is highly comprehensive, while Viles and Spencer (1995) covers tropical environments; both include a strong engagement with coastal management issues. For a more detailed exposition of the complexities of shoreline evolution, Carter and Woodroffe (1994) contains much excellent material.The Journal of Coastal Research is the most accessible and generally useful periodical for keeping up to date with coastal research issues.The Sixth Report of the UK House of Commons Select Committee on Agriculture (1998) provides a fascinating insight into contemporary coastal management issues in the UK: whether it acts as a catalyst for change or lies unopened in unvisited archives remains to be seen.

REFERENCES Bird, E.C.F. (1985) Coastline Changes: A Global Review. Chichester: J.Wiley. Bird, E.C.F. (1993) Submerging Coasts. Chichester: J.Wiley. Brammer, H. (1993) Geographical complexities of detailed impact assessment for the Ganges-BrahmaputraMeghna delta of Bangladesh. In R.A.Warwick, E.M.Burrows and T.M.L.Wigley (eds) Climate and Sea Level Change: Observations, Projections and Implications. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 246–62. Bray, M.J., Carter, D.J. and Hooke, J.M. (1992) Coastal sediment transport study. Report to SOPAC, Portsmouth: University of Portsmouth. Bruun, P. (1962) Sea level rise as a cause of shore erosion. Journal of Waterways and Harbor Division, Proceedings of the American Society of Civil Engineers 88, 117–30. Burd, F. (1995) Managed Retreat: A Practical Guide. Peterborough: English Nature. Carter, R.W.G. (1988) Coastal Environments. London: Academic Press. Carter, R.W.G. and Woodroffe, C.D. (1994) Coastal Evolution: Late Quaternary Shoreline Morphodynamics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Coastal Engineering Research Center (1984) Shore Protection Manual (4th edition). Washington DC: US Government Printing Office. Davidson, A.T., Nicholls, R.J. and Leatherman, S.P. (1992) Beach nourishment as a coastal management tool: an annotated bibliography on developments associated

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with the artificial nourishment of beaches. Journal of Coastal Research 8, 984–1022. de Vriend, H.J., Capobianco, M., Chesner, T., de Swart, H.E., Latteux, B. and Stive, M.J.F. (1993) Approaches to long-term modelling of coastal morphology: a review. Coastal Engineering 21, 225–69. Dean, R.G. (1991) Equilibr ium beach profiles: characteristics and applications. Journal of Coastal Research 7, 53–84. Dixon, K. and Pilkey, O.H. (1989) Beach replenishment on the U.S. coast of the Gulf of Mexico. Proceedings, Coastal Zone ’89, 2007–20. Earney, F.C.F. (1990) Marine Mineral Resources London: Routledge. Emmerson, R.H.C., Manatunge, J.M.A., Macleod, C.L. and Lester, J.N. (1997) Tidal exchanges between Orplands managed retreat site and the Blackwater estuary, Essex. Journal of the Chartered Institution of Water and Environmental Management 11, 363–72. French, J.R. (1993) Numerical modelling of vertical marsh growth and response to rising sea-level, Norfolk, UK. Earth Surface Processes and Landforms 18, 63–81. French, J.R. (1995) Function and optimal design of saltmar sh channel networks. National Rivers Authority Project Record 480/1/SW, Bristol: National Rivers Authority/Sir William Halcrow and Partners, 85–95. French, J.R., Spencer, T. and Reed, D.J. (1995a) Geomorphic response to sea level rise—existing evidence and future impacts. Earth Surface Processes and Landforms 20, 1–6. French, J.R., Spencer, T., Murray, A.L. and Arnold, N.S. (1995b) Geostatistical analysis of sedimentation in two small tidal wetlands, north Norfolk, U.K. Journal of Coastal Research 11, 308– 21. Haltiner, J., Zedler, J.B., Boyer, K.E., Williams, G.D. and Callaway, J.C. (1977) Influence of physical processes on the design, functioning and evolution of restored tidal wetlands in California. Wetlands Ecology and Management 4, 73–91. Harlow, D.A. and Cooper, N.J. (1996) Bournemouth beach monitoring: the first twenty years. In C.A. Fleming (ed.) Coastal Management: Putting Policy into Practice, London:T.Telford, 248–59. International Geosphere Biosphere Programme (IGBP) (1993) Land-Ocean Interactions in the Coastal Zone— Science Plan. Stockholm: IGBP. Komar, P.D. (1976) Beach Processes and Sedimentation. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall. Kraus, N.C. and Pilkey, O.H. (1988) Effects of seawalls on the beach. Journal of Coastal Research, Special Issue 4.

Leonard, L.A. (1997) Controls of sediment transport and deposition in an incised mainland marsh basin, southeastern North Carolina. Wetlands 17, 263–74. Leonard, L.A., Dixon, K.A. and Pilkey, O.H. (1990) A comparison of beach replenishment on the U.S. Atlantic, Pacific and Gulf coasts. Journal of Coastal Research, Special Issue 6, 15–36. Masselink, G. and Short, A.D. (1993) The effect of tidal range on beach morphodynamics and morphology: a conceptual beach model. Journal of Coastal Research 9, 785–806. May, V.J. (1990) Replenishment of the resort beaches at Bournemouth and Christchurch, England. Journal of Coastal Research, Special Issue, 6, 11–15. Milliman, J.D. and Meade, R.H. (1983) Worldwide delivery of river sediments to the oceans. Journal of Geology 91, 1–21. Milliman, J.D. and Syvitski, J.P.M. (1992) Geomorphic/ tectonic control of sediment discharge to the ocean: the importance of small mountainous rivers. Journal of Geology 100, 525–44. Moeller, I., Spencer, T. and French, J.R. (1996) Wind wave attenuation over saltmarsh surfaces: Preliminary results from Norfolk, England. Journal of Coastal Research 12, 1009–16. Morton, R.A. (1988) Interactions of storms, seawalls and beaches of the Texas coast. Journal of Coastal Research, Special Issue 4, 113–34. Nakashima, L.D. and Mossa, J. (1991) Responses of natural and seawall-backed beaches to recent hurricanes on the Bayou Lafourche headland, Louisiana. Zeitschrift für Geomorphologie 35, 239–56. Nicholls, R.J. and Leatherman, S.P. (1995) Potential impacts of accelerated sea-level r ise on developing countries. Journal of Coastal Research, Special Issue, 14. Nordstrom, K.F. (1994) Developed coasts. In R.W.G. Carter and C.D.Woodroffe (eds) Coastal Evolution: Late Quaternary Shoreline Morphodynamics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 477–509. Pethick, J.S. (1984) An Introduction to Coastal Geomorphology. London: E.Arnold. Pethick, J.S. (1992) Saltmarsh geomorphology. In J.R.L.Allen, and K.Pye (eds) Morphodynamics, Conservation and Engineering Significance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 41–62. Pethick, J.S. and Burd, F. (1995) Sedimentary processes under managed retreat. National Rivers Authority Project Record 480/1/SW, Bristol: National Rivers Authority/ Sir William Halcrow and Partners, 14–26.

COASTAL EROSION Phillips, J.D. (1992) Nonlinear dynamical systems in geomor phology: revolution or evolution. Geomorphology 5, 219–29. Pilkey, O.H. (1995) The fox guarding the hen house. Journal of Coastal Research 11, iii-iv. Pilkey, O.H.,Young, R.S., Riggs, S.R., Smith, A.W.S., Wu, H. and Pilkey, W.D. (1993) The concept of shoreface profile of equilibrium: a critical review. Journal of Coastal Research 9, 255–78. Portnoy, J.W. and Giblin,A.E. (1997) Effects of historic tidal restrictions on salt marsh sediment geochemistry. Biogeochemistry 36, 275–303. Shepard, F.P. (1950) Beach cycles in southern California. Technical Memorandum 20, Beach Erosion Board, US Army Corps of Engineers. Sonu, C.J. and James, W.R. (1973) A Markov model for beach profile change. Journal of Geophysical Research 78, 1462–71. Stanley, D.J. and Warne, A.G. (1993) Nile delta: recent geological evolution and human impact. Science 208, 628–34. Thom, B.C. and Hall,W. (1991) Behaviour of beach profiles during accretion and erosion dominated periods. Earth Surface Processes and Landforms 16, 113–27. UK Government (1998) Sixth Report of the U.K. House of Commons Select Committee on Agriculture. London: HMSO. Valentin, H. (1952) Die Kusten der Erde. Petermanns Geographische Mitteilungen 246, 118.

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Verhagen, H.J. (1992) Method for artificial beach nourishment. Proceedings, 23rd International Conference on Coastal Engineering 2474–85. Viles, H.A. and Spencer, T. (1995) Coastal Problems: Geomorphology, Ecology and Society at the Coast. London: E.Arnold. Vita-Finzi, C. (1964) Synchronous stream deposition throughout the Mediterranean area in historical times. Nature 202, 1324. Walker, H.J. and Mossa, J. (1986) Human modification of the shoreline of Japan. Physical Geography 7, 116–39. Warrick, R.A., Le Provost, C., Meier, M.F., Oerlemans, J. and Woodworth, P.L. (1996) Changes in sea level. In J.T.Houghton, L.G.Meira Filho, B.A.Callander, N.Harris, A.Kattenberg and K.Maskell (eds) Climate Change 1995:The Science of Climate Change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 359–405. Wijnberg, K.M. and Terwindt, J.H.J. (1995) Extracting decadal mor pholog ical behaviour from highresolution, long-term bathymetric surveys along the Holland coast using eigenfunction analysis. Marine Geology 126, 301–30. Wright, L.D. and Short, A.D. (1984) Morphodynamic variability of surf zones and beaches: a synthesis. Marine Geology 56, 93–118. Wright, L.D., Short, A.D. and Green, M.O. (1985) Shortterm changes in the morphodynamic states of beaches and surf zones: an empirical model. Marine Geology 62, 339–64.

9 Physical problems of the urban environment Ian Douglas

THE NATURE OF PHYSICAL ENVIRONMENTAL PROBLEMS IN CITIES

Cities are where people have most transformed nature, replacing vegetation with roofed and paved surfaces, burying stream channels, creating indoor climates, and making huge artificial transfers of energy water and materials. Expanding cities transform hydrological relationships, changing the magnitude and frequency of flooding. Rising land pr ices often mean that homes are built on relatively unstable slopes or on the floodplains of rivers. The poor, especially in dense squatter settlements in third world cities, often have no choice but to occupy hazardous sites on steep slopes, close to rivers, or near polluting factories. All too often, their settlements are vulnerable to road collapse, water pipe breakages and sewer failures and to floods, landslides or subsidence. Two aspects of this vulnerability are of special significance to geographers: the differ ing vulnerability of social groups and communities within the city; and the way in which expanding cities increase in vulnerability through time as they spread across more hazardous sites and occupy more unstable terrain. Knowledge of urban hydrology and urban geomorphology is not only a key to good urban planning but should also be available to every house purchaser. The home builder or buyer should ‘know the ground being built upon’.

Nature is widespread in cities. Only a small part of an urban area is completely paved and roofed. In European and North American cities, many suburban areas are dominated by green vegetation. Urban areas often have greater biodiversity and wildlife protection than adjacent intensively cropped farming country, 3000 different species having been recorded in a single suburban garden in Leicester, England. Land prices and policies encouraging house building on existing urban land lead to denser occupation of urban land. Gardens are partially changed to imper meable, paved surfaces modifying natural air, water, materials and energy flows. Relatively little of the urban area is completely covered by roofs or paved surfaces and thus totally impervious. Satellite imagery showed only 0.9 km2 of the Bolton urban area in England to be entirely impervious, 6.5 km2 was 82 per cent impervious, while 25 km 2 was 45 per cent impervious (Adi 1990).

URBAN VULNERABILITY TO CLIMATIC EXTREMES

Cities have little direct impact on the global radiation balance, but the internal urban climate produced by the absorption and subsequent reradiation of heat from the surfaces of the built enrivonment, and by the emission of artificial heat through combustion create an urban heat-island

PHYSICAL PROBLEMS OF THE URBAN ENVIRONMENT effect. Cities are warmer than the surrounding countryside at night and often, especially in high latitudes, dur ing the daytime. In Tokyo, anthropogenic heat raises the urban surface temperature by around 1.5°C in summer and 2.5°C degree in winter, and urban land-use effects raise temperatures by about 1°C in both seasons (Ichinose 1997). In large mid-latitude cities during summer heatwaves, the release of warm air from cooling machinery makes city streets extremely hot and excess deaths occur, as in Greece and the eastern United States in the summer of 1998. While most cities experience fogs and storm rains, the rarer tornadoes, cyclones, heat waves, droughts, bush fires and haze problems are more difficult to plan for. Part of the growing risk arises from the rapid growth of cities in areas affected by severe tropical revolving storms, known locally as cyclones, hurricanes or typhoons. Before 1987, no single event produced urban storm damage claims of over a billion dollars. Since then, claims have included those from Cyclone Iniki in 1992 ($1.4 billion), Hurricane Hugo in 1989 ($5.8 billion) and Hurricane Andrew in 1992 ($20 billion). Such huge losses and possible changes in world weather patterns may lead to rises in premiums and even insurance company collapses. The building design and urban land use zoning needed to reduce cyclone damage benefits from the use of Geographical Infor mation Systems (GIS). However, geographers also contribute to the behavioural studies that examine how people’s

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preparedness for, and response to cyclones may be improved.

URBAN VULNERABILITY TO AIR POLLUTION

Three general types of air pollution have affected cities in the twentieth century: • • •

sulphur dioxide (SO2) and soot from coal burning; lead emissions from motor vehicles; oxides of nitrogen and fine particulate matter from motor vehicles.

In Britain, as trends in Greater Manchester demonstrate (Figure 9.1), the worst effects of the first two have largely been overcome by technical advances and legislation, but the effects of trafficrelated pollution remain a major concer n. Elsewhere in the world, all three forms of air pollution can be found. Lead from motor vehicles has caused much concern for the health of children, especially in school playgrounds close to main roads. Lead concentrations are high close to the kerb but 10 to 20 m away from the road are much lower. Concentrations are also high in the soil close to traffic lights, where vehicles are temporarily stationary. Atmospheric lead began to decline in Europe with the introduction of lead-free petrol, development of more efficient vehicle engines and

Figure 9.1 The decline in smoke, sulphur dioxide and lead (A) in the air in Greater Manchester and the fall in the death rate due to bronchitis. Smoke and sulphur dioxide data (B) are for central Manchester, bronchitis death rate for the city of Manchester as a whole and lead data for the places indicated in different parts of Greater Manchester. Source: Environment and Development Department, Manchester City Council.

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taxation policies favouring lead-free petrol. However, such changes have not yet occurred in many cities of lower latitudes, where children remain at risk. Air pollution arising from particulates and oxides of nitrogen emissions from motor vehicles is most severe in cities with stable, dr y anticyclonic weather conditions for large parts of the year, such as Los Angeles, Athens, Tehran and Mexico City, where it produces photochemical smog and high concentrations of low-level

atmospheric ozone. In Britain, such smogs may occur during infrequent stable atmospheric conditions in both summer and winter. In Athens, Paris and Mexico City, their incidence has been so severe that restrictions on the use of motor vehicles are imposed. Under extreme circumstances, especially in Mexico City, factories are asked to reduce or halt production until atmospheric pollutant levels decrease. Geographers in Sydney, Australia, and Los Angeles have traced the diurnal migration of the

Box 9.1 Air pollution by smoke and sulphur dioxide in Sheffield, UK, in the 1950s and 1960s; and Chongqing, China, in the 1980s and 1990s Alice Garnett’s fine air pollution studies (1967) in Sheffield in the 1950s and 1960s showed that the heavy steel industries along the Don valley downstream of the city emitted waste heat equivalent to approximately 20 per cent of the incoming solar radiation and released sulphur at rates exceeding 1000 t km2 y-1. Atmospheric SO2 concentrations often reached levels of 1500 µg m-3 in the industrial area but fluctuated widely with weather conditions. In China, where coal remains a prime source of energy, the city of Chongqing has severe SO2 pollution affecting 2.5 million people along the Jialin and Yangtze Rivers (Figure 9.2). Major steelworks and heavy engineering plants emit smoke, which moves down valley towards the city centre and cannot disperse because of the overhead inversion layers and fogs, which occur

Source: Chongqing University, and Garnett 1967.

naturally. Chongqing has the highest SO2 levels of sixty Chinese cities and rainfall pH averaging 4.1, producing acid rain, which causes severe corrosion of many metal structures in the city. Domestic emissions will fall as natural gas replaces coal briquettes in cooking stoves, but factor y emissions will continue, while inland Chongqing fares less well than coastal cities in China’s economic expansion. In both Sheffield and Chongqing, topography and their regional situation play a role in determining the location of the most severe air pollution. In planning the location of industries, or traffic concentrations with high emissions, the relief and regional climate must always be considered if the most severe pollutant concentrations are to be avoided.

PHYSICAL PROBLEMS OF THE URBAN ENVIRONMENT smog from the intense morning concentration around the central business districts to the suburbs further inland, carried by the sea breeze, and then a seaward migration again in the evening when the land cools and the sea stays relatively warm. Similar air pollution problems prevail in many equatorial cities, even though frequent rains usually wash pollutants out of the atmosphere. Vehicular emissions account for more than threequarters of the air pollutants in and around Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. Dur ing August 1991, the suspended particulates content of the air increased by 13 per cent per day from 120 µg m3 on 16 August to over 400 µg m3 on 27 August, then dropping rapidly when the weather changed (Samah 1992). However, in 1997, haze over Kuala Lumpur was associated with forest fires in Sumatra and Borneo, the dust particles from which had been carried across the Malacca Straits and the South China Sea. Causes of pollution events may thus be local or regional, and probably the worst conditions arise when there is a combination of the two. These haze episodes tend to produce or agg ravate respiratory and eye problems. People susceptible to related diseases were warned by the Health Department to stay indoor s. Much work remains to be done on the possible relationship between conditions such as asthma and air pollution. In Britain, severe air pollution is believed to aggravate existing respirator y diseases, which are probably caused by allergens in the indoor environment.

WATER PROBLEMS IN CITIES

A city has a dual hydrological system: the peoplemodified natural hydrological cycle of rainfall, runoff and river discharge; and the artificial water supply and waste water disposal system.The nature of the urban surface is particularly important in the disposal of rainwater and snow falling on a city. Drainage systems have to take account of the percentage of the surface that is impermeable and

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that will yield water directly to drains and artificial drainage channels. In North American and Australian cities, about 33 per cent of industrial and commercial areas and 25 per cent of residential areas are impervious (Nouh 1986). Urbanisation modifies the hydrological cycle in four main ways: 1 2 3 4

increase in storm runoff; reduced infiltration to groundwater aquifers; changes in water quality; changes in the hydraulic amenities of streams.

The growth of cities affects the flow of small streams in two ways: •

•

an increasing percentage of the surface becomes impervious to infiltration as it is covered by buildings, driveways, pavements and parking lots; the introduction of storm sewers brings storm runoff from paved and roofed areas directly to stream channels for discharge. Runoff travel time to streams is shortened, while the impervious area increases runoff volume.These two changes in combination reduce the time from peak rainfall to peak stream flow (the lag time) and raise the peak storm stream flow. Many rapidly expanding suburban communities are finding that low-lying, formerly flood-free, residential areas now experience periodic flooding as a result of upstream urbanisation. The size of small, frequent floods is increased many times by these processes, but large, rare floods that cause serious damage usually result from conditions that saturate entire catchment areas and are little, if at all, affected by urban land uses (Hollis 1975).

Urban floods can be classified into four broad categories: Localised flash floods: usually produced by shortduration, extremely intense thunder-storms, which produce rapid runoff of large volumes of water, which exceed the capacity of small stream channels. This causes localised flooding of roads and houses and in urban areas is often related to

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limitations imposed by culverts or old bridges on suburban streams. The flooding may last from twenty minutes to a few hours. Catchment-wide flooding from prolonged heavy rain: usually produced in the UK by depressions whose passage is blocked by immobile high pressure to the east; these drop large volumes of water over a wide area, causing rivers to burst their banks and flood large areas. This is the type of flooding affecting the River Severn and the River Mersey about once every two to three years (Plate 9.1). In tropical regions, this would be associated with the passage of typhoons (hurricanes or cyclones) or disturbances within a monsoonal air flow.The flooding lasts from a few hours to two or three days, depending on catchment size. Regional flooding: usually produced by an unusual combination of prolonged rain over a large, already wet area: typical of the floods that have occurred in the Mississippi and its tributaries in recent years, the most severe floods on the great r ivers of Asia, and the floods that take weeks to pass down the Mur ray-Darling r iver system in Australia. Towns in the path of such floods can expect widespread inundation lasting for many days to two or more weeks.

Plate 9.1 Flooding of Flixton Road, Carrington, Greater Manchester, in December 1991 as a result of catchmentwide flooding from prolonged heavy rain.

Snow melt flooding: seasonal snow melt river regimes occur on many rivers draining mountain regions, such as the Rhine, Rhône and Danube in Europe. While these annual high water levels are usually coped with well, exceptional combinations of weather conditions can produce high volumes of warm rainfall, which cause extremely rapid snow melt, creating disasters like those that affected the Guil valley in the French Alps in 1957, when whole villages on old alluvial fans were destroyed. Urban areas often experience localised flooding through poor design and planning of developments, or simply through the thoughtless throwing of debris into small streams, as when in Manchester a mattress and other debris blocked a culvert entrance and caused the flooding of an adjacent housing estate. An undersized drain at Llandudno Junction, Wales, caused thirty new houses in a small flood basin to be flooded to a depth of 1 m by the Afon Wydden in both October 1976 and February 1977 (Parker and Penning-Rowsell 1980). The classic method of regulating streams and rivers in cities was to either turn them into concrete or stone culverts, or embank them, as along the Rio Guadelmedina at Malaga, Spain (Plate 9.2), or divert them around city centres. Since 1980, much attention has been paid to designing rivers for multiple use, with both adequate flood storage and control and with major environmental benefits. Attempting to ‘tame’ any natural alluvial river is now seen as undesirable (Thor ne 1998). Single-pur pose levee and channelisation projects exclude other possible uses for stream and flood plains, such as preservation of riparian woodlands, creation of greenways for urban parks, conservation of stream fishery habitat, and storage of flood waters in floodplains (Riley 1998). In the USA, complex overlapping federal, state and municipal responsibilities have often led to slow decision making about stream channel improvement, but now participatory, multi-agency ‘watershed councils’ are often proving effective. In Portland, Oregon, the city council adopted a management plan with objectives ranging from

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Plate 9.2 The aggraded, embanked channel of the Rio Guadelmedina at Malaga, Spain, in 1980. Sand and gravel brought down from the mountains have raised the bed of the confined channel above the level of the adjacent streets, so putting adjacent buildings at risk of flooding.

fish habitat restoration to flood damage reduction prepared by citizen and agency members of the Johnson Creek Watershed Council working together over five years (ibid.). In the UK, flood alleviation works have been strongly influenced by the Wildlife and Countryside Act of 1981, Section 48 of which requires engineers to undertake river works in an environmentally sensitive manner. An investigation into floodplain management along the River Colne, west of London, involved a comprehensive holistic assessment of environmental resources in order that the ecological and recreation benefits of this valley could be retained and enhanced (Driver and Pepper 1996).

DANGERS OF INADEQUATE URBAN WATER SYSTEMS

Inadequate water systems lead to four main sets of problems: Health problems from lack of fresh water and inadequate waterborne sanitation

Geography enters into urban water management in a more complex way when considering the implications of water supply for human health.

Often the wealthiest people in cities are able to ensure good piped supplies or have the finance to buy bottled water. For the poor things are very different.When cities lack the financial resources to maintain their water systems, human health is threatened. In 1995, five of the 500,000 inhabitants of Nikolayev, Ukraine, died from cholera due to lack of funds to repair the collapsing water and sewerage system. Others had died in 1991 and 1994. Cholera probably comes from people swimming in, or eating fish from, the Southern Bug River, into which enters partly treated sewage carrying the cholera bacterium from the people to the river. All cities affected by war, civil strife or natural disasters face similar risks, but economic difficulties can make them long-lasting. Competition for water between rich and poor communities in cities

In 1995, water tankers appeared in wealthy suburbs of south Delhi (Goldenberg 1995) as the city administration cut back supplies by 20 per cent and brought in rationing. Although a virtually permanent problem for the poor of Delhi, the impacts on the wealthy suburbs as the temperature rose to 45°C led to political action, with Haryana state upstream on the Jumna River releasing extra water to avert the crisis.

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The geographical injustice of urban water access and management is a fruitful field for applied geography. Competition for groundwater resources, depletion of aquifers and subsidence

Delhi illustrates how most low-latitude cities have outgrown the municipal water distr ibution systems. Many rich people sink wells, saving water charges, but lowering the water table and forcing people to dig deeper. This again tends to deprive the poor of access to cheap, good-quality water and may also induce the type of subsidence that has affected Bangkok and Mexico City. Competition between rural and urban areas for water supplies

Another controversy arises in trying to balance urban and rural water needs. With a per capita consumption of around 220 litres per day, Delhi uses twice as much water per head as Bombay. Rural people protest that water is used for swimming pools in Delhi, while they do not have enough for their crops. Within the city, water is used to keep politicians’ lawns green, while the middle class do not get enough pressure for a real shower and the slums are not connected to the water mains at all.

THE ROLE AND SIGNIFICANCE OF URBAN GEOMORPHOLOGY

Every climatic, topographical and geological situation creates problems for the construction and maintenance of cities. Some of these are due to processes occurring at present, and some are legacies from the past, such as the remobilisation of ancient landslides, or foundation problems due to complex subsurface conditions in sediment laid down in past climates, greatly different from those of the present. Many cities face earthquake, volcanic, tsunami or avalanche risks. Possible worldwide sea level rise threatens many millions of urban people, especially in poor countries that

cannot afford coastal protection works. Subsidence affects many parts of urban areas. In 1997, a garden in Ripon in Yorkshire, UK, disappeared into a 40 m deep hole. Within hours, a double garage disappeared, along with the children’s sandpit. The house involved and two neighbouring dwellings had to be evacuated.They were built above soluble Triassic gypsum, which extends along the eastern edge of the Pennines and also occurs in Cheshire. Such karstic solubility phenomena have to be considered when planning new housing estates. Over much of southern Britain, and in many other countries, the problem of cracking clay soils provides a major constraint on urban development. Many clay soils expand when wet and shrink and crack during long dry periods. Such ‘shrink-swell’ phenomena cause differential shifts of parts of the structure, such that floors tilt slightly and windows and doors no longer close properly. Such natural subsidence may be covered by household insurance, premiums for which were previously based on the pattern of past claims. Now geographers are assisting companies in mapping the hazard due to cracking clays (Doornkamp 1995). Any form of land development alters the form of the slopes and the passage of water over the ground and into the weathering profile. Landslide and soil erosion potentials are altered. Developments in steep granitic terrain in Hong Kong, the Rio de Janeiro area of Brazil and peninsular Malaysia have led to large-scale landslides, severe gullying and soil erosion. Impacts can be divided into two phases of the development process: those during project construction and those in the period after completion of building work. Geographers have helped to develop guidelines for the recognition of landslide potential and for erosion control. Six key contr ibutions can be made by geomor phologists to urban environmental management (Hart 1986): 1

making initial reconnaissance surveys to select suitable sites for urban development within a region or a country;

PHYSICAL PROBLEMS OF THE URBAN ENVIRONMENT 2 3 4 5 6

mapping potentially hazardous zones within the selected areas; giving advice on the beneficial use of topography and surface materials in planning specific traffic routes and subdivision street layouts; providing advice on site slope stability and erosion control works; analysing weathering problems likely to affect foundations and building materials; dealing with post-construction problems such as urban stream channel maintenance, causes of damage by hazards and the monitoring of geomorphological change.

GEOTECHNICAL MEASURE TO MINIMISE IMPACTS

Geomorphological mapping, developed by geographers, helps to designate areas of potential slope instability and land suitability for different types of construction. Applications range from building control in Hong Kong, to the planning of developments at Suez City, Egypt, and earthquake hazard zonation in San Francisco. Mapping also assists in assessing multiple hazards, such as landsliding, flooding and debris flows. Erosion control guidelines suggest that construction should be carried out in phases to avoid disturbing too much of the land at any one time. No unnecessary clear ing should be undertaken. Immediately below any cleared area, detention ponds should be constructed to retain any sediment washed off the site and to hold back stormwater runoff so that peak discharges in streams below are not increased. Particular attention should be paid to the design of construction roads, and later of per manent roads. Road design should be governed by four basic principles: 1

2

Minimise the amount of disturbance caused by road construction by (a) controlling the total mileage of roads; and (b) reducing the area of disturbance on the roads that are built. Avoid construction in areas of high erosion hazard.

3 4

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Minimise erosion on areas that are disturbed by road construction by a variety of practices designed to reduce erosion. Minimise the off-site impacts of erosion.

ENGINEERING PROBLEMS IN KARST TERRAIN

Soluble rocks have subsurface conditions that pose problems that are particularly acute in the limestone areas of Southeast Asia (Box 9.2) and the Caribbean, including Florida, where cave systems below ground developed during low Pleistocene sea levels. In Florida, many cases of subsidence due to sinkhole collapse have involved law suits in which geomorphologists have acted as expert witnesses. Knowledge of the subsurface, of past and present geomorphic processes, is essential if fair judgements are to be obtained and future problems avoided.The key role here for applied geography is to assist people to ‘know the ground they build upon’.

CONCLUSIONS: TASKS FOR APPLIED PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY IN THE URBAN ENVIRONMENT

Urban areas continue to grow, and within them land use intensifies. The crowding, consumption and congestion leads to increasing emissions and waste, greater vulnerability of the city’s people and more and more significance for the quality of urban management. The risks associated with waste disposal and the legacies of past industrial activity, the opportunity to apply biogeographical principles in planning urban nature conservation, and the issues of wildlife and pests within the city are too complex to be dealt with here, but they are all part of the urban ecosystem, part of the daily lives of most of the world’s people. To avoid r isks to health, lifestyles and commerce, good information on the state of urban areas is needed. On the one hand, work towards making cities more sustainable and more environmentally friendly, particularly through Local Agenda 21, is using indicators of the state of the city.

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Box 9.2 Subsidence beneath Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia Beneath the northeastern part of central Kuala Lumpur is a highly cavernous buried limestone karst, with many voids (Figure 9.3). The buried karst plain is overlain by sands and clays deposited by rivers as the sea level rose after the last ice age. The sands contain alluvial tin deposits, the mining of which created pits, which were later filled. The mining produced two types of subsidence: that due to the general lowering of the groundwater table, especially by the pumping of water out of mine pits; and that due to the sudden collapse of sediments over sinkholes. Some of the filled pits have been reclaimed for low-cost housing. In a few instances, fill has subsided into sinkholes with, in one place, a row of low-cost houses collapsing into a reopened hole.

On the other, the different databases on gas and water pipes, telephone and electricity cables, postcodes, housing stock, census data, health status, locations of services and recreational facilities for individual cities

The buried karst now poses serious problems for civil engineering works (Bergado and Sebanayagan 1987) New high-rise buildings require deeper foundations than the lowrise buildings that sufficed until the 1970s. In Kuala Lumpur, the low-rise structures had their foundations on the stiff clay layer within the alluvium. Taller multistorey structures require piling into the underlying limestone. However, the irregularity of both the karst surface and the cavities within the buried karst means that foundation investigations have to be particularly circumspect. Drill holes may strike limestone, unaware as to whether it is buried rockfall material or a pinnacle, while a neighbouring hole might pass through several more metres of alluvium before hitting limestone. Special precautions had to be taken when constructing the Petronas Twin Towers, the world’s tallest building at the time.

are becoming more integrated, so that everything from air quality to ground conditions and waste disposal patterns can be accessed through a single database or GIS. Such ‘smart’ cities can also become

PHYSICAL PROBLEMS OF THE URBAN ENVIRONMENT ‘safe’ cities by the effective management of the information system to both give warnings of, and plan to manage, impending disasters. The need to expand such urban information systems has been identified as a priority in the European Commission fifth Framework Research and Development Programme. Applied geography will be a major contributor to the development of the ‘information’ city. Current geographical research in this direction includes projects to: •

•

•

•

use GIS to map areas of energy loss from buildings using infrared photography so that better strategies for investment in insulation can be developed; use GIS and real-time weather data to predict areas and populations at risk in the event of major chemical releases to the atmosphere in urban areas; use GIS to record areas of contaminated soil at different depths below the surface to look at sources of substances that might contaminate groundwater or that may develop into future ‘chemical time bombs’; use GIS to integrate geomorphological information in the planning of new urban areas and identify those areas on which new building should not be allowed as a contribution to the type of work already done in the Hong Kong Geotechnical Control Office or in landslide hazard zoning by the local authorities around San Francisco Bay.

However, the work goes beyond sheer considerations of wise planning and safety. The conservation of the built and natural heritage of urban areas for enjoyment and education benefits from good geographical analysis, including considerations of access, relationship to other facilities and areas and links with the community. Examples of this approach are to be found in: •

discussions about the integration of urban nature reserves and other open spaces of natural vegetation, perhaps with cultural heritage buildings or remains, into urban biosphere reserves;

•

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collaborative work on urban river valley improvements, where researchers work with local government, voluntary organisations and community groups to enhance open space use for recreation and nature conservation.

Many such tasks aim to improve both the quality of people’s surroundings and the quality of life for individuals. Resolving or alleviating physical problems as par t of a new urban human ecology— a new science of human settlements— is at the heart of the United Nations Human Settlements Programme (HABITAT) and of the work of NGOs like the Commonwealth Human Ecology Council. Applied geog raphy is geography at the service of the world’s people. Since most of those people will be living in urban areas in the twenty-first century, there is no more urgent need than to put geography at the service of those who have to survive in and manage cities.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

General syntheses of urban environmental problems and their management include: Detwyler,T.R. and Marcus, M.G. (1975) Urbanization and Environment. Belmont: Duxbury. Douglas, I., (1983) The Urban Environment. London: Arnold. Hardoy, J., Satterthwaite, D. and Mitlin, D. (1992) The Environmental Problems of Cities in Developing Countries. London: Earthscan. Girardet, H. (1993) The Gaia Atlas of Cities—New Directions for Sustainable Urban Living. Stroud: Gaia Books. White, R.R. (1994) Urban Environmental Management. Chichester:Wiley. Good urban environmental histories, which examine how and why past problems were or were not successfully remedied, paying particular attention to the roles of individual entrepreneurs, lobbyists, city managers and municipal politicians, are provided by: Tarr, J.A. (1997) Searching for a ‘sink’ for an industrial

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waste. In C.Miller, and H.Rothman (eds) Out of the Woods: Essays in Environmental History. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press 163–80. Hays, S.P. (1998) Explorations in Environmental History. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. The major journals specifically tackling urban environmental problems are Environment and Urbanisation; Urban Ecosystems; Urban Nature Magazine and Atmospheric Environment. A highly valuable introductory bibliographical source is provided by: Dawe, G. (ed.) (1990) The Urban Environment: A Sourcebook for the 1990s. Birmingham: Centre for Urban Ecology.

REFERENCES Adi, S. (1990) The influence of urbanization on flood magnitude and storm runoff in the Bolton area, Greater Manchester. Unpublished MSc thesis, University of Manchester, U.K. Bergado D.T. and Sebanayagan, A.N. (1987) Pile foundation problems in Kuala Lumpur limestone, Malaysia. Quarterly Journal of Engineering Geology 20, 159–75. Doornkamp, J.C. (1995) Perception and reality in the provision of insurance against natural perils in the UK. Transactions Institute of British Geographers NS 20, 68–80. Driver, A. and Pepper, A.T. (1996) The Lower Colne improvement scheme: environmental costs and benefits.

Journal Chartered Institution of Water and Environmental Management 10, 79–86. Garnett, A. (1967) Some climatological problems in urban geography with special reference to air pollution. Transactions Institute of British Geographers, 42, 21–43. Goldenberg, S. (1995) Delhi’s water crisis now a VIP problem. Guardian, June 12 1995. Hart, M.G. (1986) Geomorphology: Pure and Applied. London: Allen & Unwin. Hollis, G.E. (1975) The effect of urbanization on floods of different recurrence interval. Water Resources Research 11, 431–35. Ichinose, T. (1997) website: http://www.urban.rcast.utokyo.ac.jp/ues/hanakilab/ichinose/abs.html Nouh, M. (1986) Effect of model calibration in the leastcost design of stormwater drainage systems. In C.Maksimovic and M.Radjokovic (eds) Urban Drainage Modelling, Oxford: Pergamon, 61–71. Parker, D.J. and Penning-Rowsell, E.C. (1980) Water Planning in Britain. London: George Allen & Unwin. Riley, A.L. (1998) Restoring Streams in Cities: A Guide for Planners, Policymakers, and Citizens. Washington DC: Island Press. Samah, A.A. (1992) Investigation into the haze episodes in the Kelang Valley, Malaysia. In A.J. Hedley, I.J.Hodgkiss, N.W.M.Ko,T.L. Mottershead, J.Peter and W.W.-S.Yim (eds) Proceedings Seminar on the Role of the ASAIHL in Combating Health Hazards of Environmental Pollution. Hong Kong: The University of Hong Kong, 221–27. Thorne, C.R. (1998) Stream Reconnaissance Handbook. Chichester:Wiley.

Part II

Environmental change and management

10 Water supply and management Adrian McDonald

INTRODUCTION

Water is fundamental to life and is overall the largest component of resources that have to be actively sought. Air we need continuously but, for the time being at least, is available at all locations. Water supply and management mean different things to different communities, clients, industries and suppliers. For the purposes of this analysis, water supply will be taken as the supply of water for consumption delivered through a system. In

forming this definition, we have excluded waters abstracted from rivers and groundwater without treatment for use by people and industry. The management of the supply of water involves three requirements: 1 2 3

The delivery of an adequate volume of water at the time and locations required. The provision of water of an adequate quality. The provision of the water at an acceptable price to consumer and supplier.

Figure 10.1 Stylised operation of the water industry, the place of regulators and the main actions and therefore research areas in the system.

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Figure 10.1 shows the stylised structure of the water supply system and incorporates the three requirements above. Water supply cannot be separated from water quality issues. There are inherent and demanding standards of quality for potable waters. After use, potable waters are discharged into the sewer system and after treatment to the natural environment. At each stage from resource development to return of effluent to the natural environment the supply system is formally monitored by several agencies, which are also shown in Figure 10.1. In this section, environmental water quality is not considered but it is treated elsewhere; see Chapter 11. The structure of the water industry in the United Kingdom has evolved over the years. Broadly, that evolution can be considered as falling into four phases, namely: • • • •

pre-1850 1850–1974 1974–89 post-1989.

Pre c.1850

Before 1850, the water supply in the UK was small-scale, with local communities being supplied from the local river or well. Such a situation had existed for 1500 years, and any lessons that might have been learned from the relatively sophisticated Roman water supply systems had been lost to the indigenous community. The small, dispersed population had, for the most part, relied on the natural purification capacities of the natural environment. As industrialisation and urbanisation increased, cities’ local water supplies became more and more inadequate and waterborne disease reached, literally, epidemic proportions (McDonald and Kay 1988). 1850–1974

The real driver to change then, was disease in the cities, the government response to which was focused through a Victorian sense of civic pride and independence. City corporations developed

their own water undertakings, each city being supplied by its own reservoir system independently from the resource developments of adjacent cities. Reservoir developments required an act of parliament and involved the construction of both supply reservoirs and reservoirs to compensate downstream mill owners for the changed water conditions to which they, as riparian owners, were being subjected. For over 100 years, the situation remained unchanged, although the scale of the reservoirs increased and the size of catchwaters and aqueducts increased dramatically. In essence, however, the country had water provided by a set of independent unlinked source-sink resource exploitation systems. Each supply relied on four lines of defence, the so-called multiple barrier concept: • • • •

a pristine catchment; long storage in a large reservoir; filtration; and disinfection.

Certainly, the first two lines of defence have eroded over the years with the pressure of demand (1) for land, (2) for access, (3) for increased water sport and (4) for preferential exploitation of cheap upland waters.The final line of defence, while not eroded, has come under growing criticism because of problematic side effects.The use of chlorination is criticised because it generates trihalomethanes when applied to the organic-rich peat-derived waters from British uplands. Chlorination is widely accepted in the UK but is not popular in Europe. The generation of organic-rich water is discussed in Mitchell (1990) and management implications in Mitchell and McDonald (1995). 1974–89

Concern about the fragmented and piecemeal structure of the British water industry, which had hundreds of suppliers and thousands of waste management agencies, led to the creation of the regional water authorities in England and Wales. Ten water authorities covered the country, nine in England and a further Welsh Water Authority. A form of the previous system remained in Scotland

WATER SUPPLY AND MANAGEMENT and Northern Ireland, such that during this period the UK was character ised by different administrative regions. The water authorities planned and implemented water management and pollution control, flood management and the water environment. The water authorities, while applauded throughout the world as an example of integrated catchment-based water management, suffered from two significant problems: (1) they had a very constrained capability to raise funds for investment; and (2) they were seen as selfregulating, both the gamekeeper and poacher in the same organisation.

Post-1989

To solve both of the problems outlined above, and in keeping with its political ideology, the Conservative government of the time disbanded the water authorities, privatising the supply and waste treatment functions as water plcs, and separating out the regulatory function through the creation of the National Rivers Authority. Both the authority and the plcs started with the same spatial and management basis but, particularly since 1994, a number of significant changes have taken place. The NRA has become the Environment Agency and has taken on board responsibility for waste management and integrated industrial pollution control (historically air pollution). NRA reg ions have been amalgamated to reduce the ten NRA regions to eight EA regions. The water plcs have seen amalgamations (takeovers) with other water undertakings (Northumbrian Water owned by Lyonaise des Eaux), combinations with other nonwater utilities within a region (United Utilities for electricity and water in the northwest) or outside the region (Scottish Power ownership of Southern Water). The water industry faces research challenges associated with every element in Figure 10.1, namely • •

measuring, managing and forecasting demand; identifying, developing and manag ing resources;

• • • •

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improving treatment process, control and management; maintaining and improving water distribution; maintaining and improving drinking water quality; improving and developing the waste water removal and treatment system.

But perhaps more importantly, the industry has to overcome all the challenges while maintaining the confidence of customers and shareholders and delivering on all these fronts, not individually but as an integrated response to an interrelated system. Herrington (1996) has examined the effect of climate change on water demand, and Clarke et al. (1997) and Likeman et al. (1995) consider new demand prediction and resource management technologies, respectively. The problems of continued climate variability (Wigley and Jones 1987) bring new planning challenges to the water industry, since it is difficult to plan to a changing and apparently less predictable base, and this is recognised by Ofwat. Economic controls, perhaps more responsive to shortage, are elaborated in Ofwat (1996) but are confounded by the economically unresponsive and politically sensitive issue of leakage (Lambert 1994).

CONTROLLING PROCESS

Process is the domain of the chemical engineer, although no longer solely so. Raw waters, whether of high or low quality, are transformed through a sequence of chemical, physical and biological processes, into potable waters. The particular selection of processes will depend on raw (environmental) water quality. Herein is a major research opportunity. The industry requires methods for the rapid assessment of likely typical and extreme characteristics of the waters draining from catchments that it might wish to utilise for supply after treatment.There are examples in many regions of the country of ill-designed treatment strategies and processes that have failed to deliver the expected potable water quality because the

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raw water quality did not have the expected characteristics. Within the process, all critical parameters need to be monitored using reliable, well-designed and easily maintained instruments.The data from such monitoring systems, when properly analysed, will allow process modification and management and decision support such that the expected levels of service can be delivered at a reasonable cost, with failure risk minimised to customers, shareholders and regulators. This area of the industry, reliant as it is on communication and remote-monitor ing technology, will benefit most from shared understandings of common problems. To gather data in a manner that will allow its effective integration will require a setting of protocols and standards for data collection, aggregation and transmission. It will also require a changed approach by university researchers away from the groupings of like-minded researchers (say several hydrologists from different institutions) to innovative and ‘unnatural’ groupings (water engineer, electronics engineer, psychologist, groundwater hydrologist, archaeologist and global positioning system analyst) if, for example, ground penetrating radar (GPR) is to be developed for tracing leakage in the water industry effectively.

DISTRIBUTION SYSTEMS

The distribution system connects the customer to the treatment works through a structure consisting of a dendritic pipe network incorporating service reservoirs. The system has to deliver, efficiently, a reliable and secure supply of water of an appropriate quantity, quality, flow and pressure. In the UK, many of these systems are well over 100 years old. They have been added to as a response to urban growth rather than as planned engineering extensions. Both the age and the nature of the development present the water manager with serious challenges. Water leaves the treatment works at near pharmaceutical quality. It is contaminated when the system integrity is impaired through leakage,

repairs, standpipes or back siphoning. Even when the pipes remain whole, dead-ends lead to chlorine decay, stagnation and sedimentation. Lining material leaches from mains and from lead supply pipes. Research is needed both on technical and procedural improvements to pipe renovation and usage to minimise contaminant ingress and on the determination of environmental factors (age, soils and topography) that influence pipe failure. Geophysical techniques such as GPR offer powerful techniques to locate pipes and leakage, particularly for deep non-metallic pipes, where correlators are less effective. Pressures, quantity and flow (PQF) rates are subject to standards set by the Ofwat director general but have been the subject of intense political interest because it is claimed that pressure reduction is being used as a tool to achieve the leakage reductions required by the government. PQF has to be sufficient not only to cope with peak demand but also to cope in the face of planned and unplanned (mains failures) interruptions and exceptional fire-fighting requirements. This presents network management and network infor mation modelling and simulation opportunities as well as contingency planning improvement to deal with emergency supplies in the event of failure. Leakage is the most topical characteristic of distribution systems. Leakage occurs as two types: (1) a steady background leakage due mainly to poor jointing and corrosion; and (2) intermittent failures due to ground movement often induced by weather and traffic and third party damage from other companies having or installing underground assets such as cable TV. In practice, there is a gradation between these two types. Bursts, particularly if unseen by the public and of a magnitude that does not interfere with supply to an area, will be viewed as part of the background. Leakage has become a political issue, and leakage targets have been set by the government as part of John Prescott’s ‘Water Task Force’ (see Table 10.1). All systems leak (e.g. schools have truants and electricity is lost as heat in transmission), and in most situations this is accepted. The setting of

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Plate 10.1 A mains failure in the Headingley district of Leeds in 1991 resulted in the loss of potable water supply as well as serious flooding to a number of properties. Emergency water was provided from bowsers since standpipes were unavailable.

Table 10.1 Water management priorities. Largely in response to the drought of 1995–6 but exacerbated by a series of public relations failures by the water companies, John Prescott, the deputy prime minister, chaired a task force, which established these priorities, 1997.

absolute leakage reduction targets as a political response to criticism of the water industry is strangely at odds with the Ofwat-derived policy of setting an economic level of leakage in which absolute levels will differ according to water supply and leakage repair ‘costs’. Leakage presents an opportunity for research in questions of both policy and practicality:

• • • • • • •

replace or repair renovation technologies area prioritisation find and fix technologies spatial characterisation of leakage forecasting of leakage cost-benefit analysis of leakage.

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For some time, companies have been anxious to differentiate between the leaks from pipes for which they have responsibility and those that belong to the customer. Today, the approach to leakage reduction has been integrated with water quality improvement and customer satisfaction. Many companies now offer customers free repairs to their installations and are also replacing service pipes, which may leak or contaminate potable water through, for example, dissolved lead. Service reservoirs provide a ‘local’ supply of treated water and serve to balance the supply and demand and to provide an emergency reserve of water. Service reservoirs also have negative characteristics. They allow chlorine to decay; they are a focus for microbial growth; they act as chemical reactors for disinfection by-products; and they leak. Management will seek to minimise residence time by maximising turnover; to ensure internal circulation and to monitor chlorine levels and chlor ine decay products such as tr ihalomethanes. Researchers will provide technology and systems to optimise this management. Social and computational scientists will have the opportunity to contribute to the most worrying problem: that of risk of deliberate contamination as a result of vandalism, extortion or terrorism. Risk analysis and vulnerability assessments to address these issues are becoming a part of management planning. Distribution systems are complex spatially organised systems. To optimise the performance of these assets and to achieve the tightening performance standards in the face of stringent cost constraint requires improved monitoring, data transfer, modelling and communication to identify trends in performance and to indicate potential problems and network sensitivities. It also allows operational staff to be trained in ‘what if’ scenario planning. Such network models have been credited with the success of Yorkshire Water in deliver ing uninter r upted water to all customers in the face of a 1 in 600-year drought. It could do nothing to address the PR failures in that situation.

MAINTAINING AND IMPROVING DRINKING WATER QUALITY

From the privatisation of the water industry in 1989 until the drought of 1995, the quality of drinking and environmental waters was at the top of the political, public and company agendas. It remains near the top of the agenda today. Drinking water must be ‘wholesome’ and fit for human consumption. In practical terms, these very positive objectives are interpreted through the negatives: (1) that the water does not contain anything detrimental to public health; and (2) it does not exceed defined standards. Examples of the key prescribed standards and values (PSVs) are given in Table 10.2. The standards set have a mixed pedigree.They are growing in number and are becoming more stringent. They often lack a scientific basis, and the significance of non-compliance (an understanding of the dose-response relationship) is infrequently addressed. In most cases, a wide safety margin is incorporated into the individual standards implicitly to compensate for increases in toxicity associated with aggregate element effects. Drinking water quality is assessed through the analysis of random water samples from the households ser ved. While the individual companies review the results against the prevailing standards and take action if appropriate, the results also go to the Drinking Water Inspectorate to assess compliance and trends in compliance. Research challenges are of two types: those that relate to the composition of the PSVs and those that relate to the sampling and interpretation of the PSVs. In both cases, researchers must be aware of the sensitivity of the research topic and results. Table 10.3 suggests key research areas.

FORECASTING AND PRICING

Forecasting and the research needs associated with that practice have increased in importance in the last ten years. At a time of population, demand and climate stability, it could be assumed that the water

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needs of a region would not change dramatically from year to year. A slow evolutionary need for increase would prevail, and that increase would be easily satisfied in a system that promoted a large quantity safety margin.Today, although there is still some debate about causes, few would disagree that climate change is underway. The last thirty years

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has also seen a substantial change in personal habits and national economy, both influencing water demand. So we live in and forecast a time of change. Changes in the funding of the water industry have tied accurate forecasting to the plans and charging regimes of the water companies. The

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Table 10.2 Examples of the required standards of potable waters. The achievement of these standards is tested by sampling of tap water and the formal reporting of results to the Drinking Water Inspectorate. The standards do not apply in all circumstances. Derogations can be sought to exempt companies if local circumstances always cause failures naturally or if there is a time-limited specific agreement to resolve a problem.

price companies can charge for water is set in a periodic review, which is conducted from time to time by the water industry regulator at Ofwat. Companies have to present a business plan that contains statements (forecasts) of future water resource demands and availability. To achieve the business plans under the conditions of demand and resources forecast, the companies also present to the regulator an asset management plan (AMP). The AMP will identify the required expansion and renewal in the underground and overground assets of the individual water company over the time period of the business plan. This expansion and renewal will require capital and a capital expenditure plan (CAPEX), as well as operating expenditure plans (OPEX), are presented to Ofwat. This collection of forecasts, if believed by the regulator, will be a key consideration in the assignment of the K factor, an amount, modified by the retail price index, that the company can charge its customers for the service provided. Clearly, the plans should be considered as the opening proposals in a bargaining game, but the role of the forecast to both sides is crucial. Errors in either direction will, on the one hand, damage

profitability to the detriment of shareholders and customer levels of service and, on the other hand, damage the authority of the regulator and promote overcharging of the customer. Prices are set for a ten-year period but are reviewed after five. The next review, is in 1999. This will be a more complex and sophisticated review as the regulator lear ns from past experience. The components (intimated in open letters to the industry as actions that the director general is ‘minded’ to do) are shown in Table 10.4. The K factor refers to a ‘basket of goods and ser vices’, for example effluent treatment, sewerage management, and domestic and commercial water supply. The water companies have been permitted to charge what they wish for each item in the basket as long as they adhere to the overall K value. Ofwat is encouraging companies towards a balanced application of K. The current single requirement is that the unmetered customer who uses the ‘average’ amount of water be charged, through the unmetered tar iff, the same as the metered customer using that average volume of water. Further parity constraints across the basket may be expected. Water companies are expected to recover costs. There can therefore be no ‘loss leaders’ in this industry. Therefore the Urban Wastewater Treatment Directive has resulted in higher K values for sewage treatment than for water supply. This has an impact on the large number of small, water-only, companies. Certainly, the future will be more financially fraught for the water industry. The additional costs of the windfall levy, announced in the 1997 Budget, will not be allowed to be passed on to customers. Further, Ofwat also believes that the water industr y underestimated ‘efficiency gains’ achievable under AMP2 in 1994 and that the corresponding price limits set under AMP2 were too generous. Consequently, Ofwat proposes a one-off cut in the K factor for 2000. While Ofwat is promoting a downward pressure on K, the Environment Agency is lobbying Ofwat for an increase in K (or a least a smaller drop) in order that funds are

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Table 10.3 The prescribed standards and values which drinking water must achieve pose many general research themes and specific questions, some examples of which are suggested here.

Table 10.4 The probable components of ‘K’ to be employed in periodic review 3 in 1999.

available to address environmental issues such as the Shellfish Directive, the Bathing Water Quality Directive, the Urban Wastewater Treatment Directive and the Statutory Water Quality Objectives.

One of the key forecasts needed is the likely demand for water. It is complicated by the differing interpretations of demand made by different sections of the water industry. Expressed simply, perhaps crudely, the water industry has only recently and incompletely started to differentiate supply and demand. True water demand, that is water use by people and industry in a manner that is more or less responsive to price, is the definition of demand that is used by those sections of the industry that deal with pricing structures, tariff policy and similar functions. Resource engineers, on the other hand, refer to ‘demand on sources’ or ‘demand on works’, in other words, supply. In addition to the pricesensitive demands for individuals and companies is a series of other water uses, some of which may

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be highly intermittent. These are identified in Table 10.5. In making demand forecasts for the major component of water use, domestic demand, the regulator has required companies to express demand as a demand for water per person, usually referred to as pcc (per capita consumption) by the water industry, and herein lies an unnecessary complexity of marked geographical significance. Water is supplied to households, bills are for households, the census deals with households, and any remotely sensed data is attr ibuted to households and not to individuals. We have never effectively monitored a representative individual and probably never will. Therefore there is a considerable body of research devoted to linking

geographical expertise in census information manipulation concerned with the individual make-up of households to the water use of these households. Such work draws on microsimulation and has been reported in Clarke et al. 1997. Unmetered demand is measured in two fundamental ways: by area meters; and by domestic consumption monitors. Both bring the water manager to confront the diversity and complexity of populations, industry and urban structure. An area meter is simply that: a meter on the potable water distribution system, post treatment works, which measures water delivered to an area. Interpretation of the raw data from an area meter presents many challenges:

Table 10.5 Components and possible amplitudes of true and resource demand.

Figure 10.2 Graphical representation of output from an area meter that measures the flow of water to a small area having a mix of industry and domestic users. The minimum flow, less an allowance for legal use at night, is the nightline. By subtracting metered industrial use of water the area leakage can be identified. Readers will appreciate that this is a simplified outline of the leakage estimation procedure.

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How much water do we use? 150 litres per person per day perhaps! might be the most honest answer. We don’t really know. People who have selected metering are unrepresentative. Area meters have many unknowns in the aggregate figures (leakage being the most obvious) and where ‘area meter’ areas are simple (new development, cul de sacs, isolated communities) they are not representative. Domestic consumption monitors (based on representative households that are metered but that pay on an unmentered tariff) age rapidly (through bir ths, deaths, job status and migration) and if not mainitained will be erroneous before they accumulate enough data to provide the answer they were developed to provide.

• •

•

The area changes as water operators in the front line open and close valves to correct such things as low pressure. The meter measures the total water entering the area and thus an estimate for leakage, industrial use and other constants has to be made and, on occasion, a measure for intermittent use in fire-fighting is also required. The metered area does not match with population information areas.The population of the area is not precisely known and in any event is dynamic.

An added complication in this system of multiple estimated components is that the same monitoring system is used to determine leakage. Figure 10.2 shows area water flows to a part of a major UK city.The line joining the lowest trough each day is called the nightline (the night-time water use).

From this is subtracted a nominal, and convenient, 11/hh/hr to represent legitimate night use, and the remainder is deemed to be leakage if it is accepted that the district has no industrial or commercial use and that there is no illegal use. In an effort to counteract these deficiencies, water companies have selected and developed particular areas for area meters. ‘Golden’ districts (where data quality is high—complete and reliable), cul de sacs and detached communities all have attributes that are attractive to the analysts, for they present simple, uncomplicated and ‘isolated’ areas. Sadly, these very characteristics compromise their validity as a basis for estimation, because they are unrepresentative. Domestic consumption monitors (DCMs), on the other hand, are composed of a large number (~2000) of households that are metered but that pay on a non-metered tariff. For the geographer, DCMs must have housing and household

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characteristics that are typical of the area they represent. DCM managers must appreciate the dynamic characteristics of urban populations and take positive steps to maintain the DCM. A properly maintained and analysed DCM will yield detailed information about water use. Such information can then be used with small-area population forecasts to forecast water demand.

WASTE WATER MANAGEMENT

Waste water management concer ns the management of water after use by the customer pr ior to retur n to the environment. It is considered within this section because waste waters are the financial responsibility of the water companies. A fuller treatment of water quality issues is given in Chapter 11. Sewer networks remove organic wastes from houses and wastes from factories. Sewerage networks remove street waters after rainfall and as such are a replacement for the hydrological network disrupted in urban development. In the United Kingdom sewage and sewerage networks are mainly combined. They have developed piecemeal and for the most part are long-established under a variety of regulatory regimes. Such regimes were initially local and have relatively recently become national. The networks usually lead to a treatment works, the effluent from which discharges into the natural environment. Treatment works are designed primarily to remove organic wastes, and these works cannot remove exotic chemicals. Therefore the operators of the works have a right to choose which discharges, other than domestic discharges, they will accept into the network. This choice is exercised through a Trade Effluent Permit. The control of effluents from the treatment works to the natural environment is controlled by a Consent to Discharge, which is set by the Environment Agency in the UK. Both consents and permits set conditions on the nature and concentration of the effluents, and both set financial requirements on the holder.

Because the UK system is combined, a rainstorm of moderate size in an urban area, concentrated through the system, could easily flood the water treatment works, so sewer overflows exist to divert the high flows away from the works and directly into the river. This occurs, in theory, at about six times the dry weather flow, but changes in rain characteristics, in the density and extent of the network, in the condition of the network, etc. has resulted in combined sewer overflows (CSOs) occurring too frequently and over an excessively prolonged period. The sewer system, like the potable water supply system, is out of sight and was built by predecessor organisations from which records of type, location and characteristics have not always been available. The resulting ignorance of the basic system raises a number of important and apparently simple research questions, which are listed below. They are questions of g reat importance since replacement of the underground sewer assets is (gu)estimated to cost in excess of £100billion. 1 2 3 4

Where is the pipe network? What are its characteristics and condition? Which section will fail next? How can repair, maintenance and replacement be carried out without aboveground disruption?

All of these questions will prompt the development of remote, preferably non-invasive, monitoring technologies, probably deriving as much from the geophysical as the engineering domain.Assessments of condition and such things as sewage exfiltration will be required while operational use continues and will preferably be made through external surrogate data.The water manager will increasingly use intelligent technologies to monitor and repair the network, particularly to ensure that problems such as blockages are removed and not simply displaced. A greater use of modelling will be required to predict and prioritise maintenance and replacement.This modelling will need to be highly integrated with the forecasts for other elements of the water system, such that the effects of water conservation, grey water reuse and roof rain retention on the sewer flows can be determined.

WATER SUPPLY AND MANAGEMENT Wastewater treatment works (like the water treatment works discussed earlier) are primarily the domain of the chemical engineer. The wastewater treatment manager today is under four key pressures from customer expectation, sustainability, cost efficiency and new standards (Figure 10.3). Toxicity-related consents will require the development of rapid testing technologies, both to control the process and to trace ‘polluters’ who may not have, or do not adhere to conditions in, trade effluent permits. Endocrine disrupters and oestrogen mimics give r ise to great concern, particularly because considerable elements of the budget for these chemicals derives from domestic properties, the effluent from which the companies are required to accept. Progress on detection, analysis, treatment and source control is urgently needed. Tighter standards, for example in relation to nitrogen and phosphate, and new standards relating to ubiquitous substances like washing powder brighteners, will bring further new challenges. CONCLUSIONS

The water industry is operating at a time of change. The industry has no agreement with its

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raw material supplier and worse, the natural resource, which is its raw material, appears to be likely to be more erratic in delivery. Following the droughts in the UK in 1976, 1984 and 1995, the industry must re-evaluate resource reliability and the likely impact of present policies on the r ivers and groundwater. All environmental impacts on water bodies, whether from abstraction or from discharges, must be reviewed in the light of the heightened public and political concern for the environment.The water industry has failed in its relations with the public. It has focused on ‘compliance’, forgetting that this might not accord with customer views on water quality. In relation to droughts and to leakage, the customer has been dismissed as emotional and ignorant; both more than likely largely true, but now the companies will be forced to levels of leakage control and standards of service that are not perhaps strictly economic. The industry appears to have a short memory. Customeroriented management and recognition of public perception through, for example, the introduction of more water efficiency programmes has been a short-term response. Already some companies are introducing internal competition that will bring them into conflict

Figure 10.3 Challenges to the water manager. The water manager is pressured by several, sometimes contradictory, challenges. Most actions taken to respond to these pressures have to be invisible to the customers and have minimum effect on price.

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with customers and regulators again as, for example, will occur when the competitive separation of potable and waste water sides of the business results in sub-optimal environmental management. The companies will be forced towards a changed social and environmental attitude. Already the courts have ruled against prepayment meters, an implicit recognition of the fundamental importance of water. The companies would be wise to evaluate carefully winners and losers before embarking on any development and expansion of the metering programme. Whether or not the companies are provided with funding from Ofwat via ‘K’, the Environment Agency can require environmental improvements. During the present period, the agency was finding its feet as an organisation with enlarged responsibilities. Over the next few years, it will concentrate more effectively on discharging its considerable responsibilities. In the face of company intransigence in the past regarding such issues as low flows, the companies should now anticipate a revisiting of Abstraction Licences and Consents to Discharge. Although still secondary to engineering, the applied geographer has a significant and growing role in both research and application for improved water supply and management. That role peaks where there is a direct industry contact with the environment or clients or where there is strong spatial element of analysis. Geographers have contr ibuted to the understanding of processes that modify raw water quality and to the interventions, such as land-use change, that promote improved water quality. Applied geography has helped to analyse in a spatial sense the demand for potable waters in the industrial and domestic sectors and the contribution of leakage and conservation to the overall water balance. In tur n, such work has laid the foundations for evaluations of the sustainability of water management strategies and for the determination of ecological footprints for water resource activities. Progress to a more sustainable water system will without doubt draw applied geography to contribute further to resolution of

the challenges that face the water industry in the next millennium.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

As we appproach the millennium, we must accept that more information is appearing daily on the web. For relatively recent information on the views of the key government agencies controlling water supply and management in the UK, review the web pages listed below.The director general of Ofwat is already using the web as a vehicle for dissemination of his possible views on financial regulation. Department of the Environment,Transport and the Regions— http://www.environment.detr.gov.uk Environment Agency— http://www.environmentagency.gov.uk Open Government— http://www.open.gov.uk Ofwat— http://www.open.gov.uk/ofwat

REFERENCES McDonald, A. and Kay, D. (1988) Water Resources Issues and Strategies. Longman: Harlow, UK. Clarke, G.P., Kashti, A., McDonald, A.T. and Williamson, P. (1997) Estimating small area demand for water: a new methodology. Journal of the Chartered Institute for Water and Environmental Management 11, 186–92. Herrington, P. (1996) Climate Change and the Demand for Water. Department of the Environment. HMSO. Lambert, A. (1994) Accounting for the losses: the burst and background concept. Journal of the Institution of Water and Environmental Management 8, 205–14. Likeman, M.J., Field, S.R., Stevens, I.M. and Fleming, S.E. (1995) Applications of resource technology in Yorkshire. British Hydrological Society Proceedings of the 5th National Hydrology Symposium. Mitchell, G. (1990) Natural discolouration of freshwater: chemical composition and environmental genesis. Progress in Physical Geography 14, 317–34. Mitchell, G. and McDonald, A.T. (1995) Catchment characterisation as a tool for upland water quality management. Journal of Environmental Management 44, 83–95. Ofwat (1996) 1996–97 Report on the Tariff Structure and Charges. Office of Water Services, Birmingham, 72 pp.

WATER SUPPLY AND MANAGEMENT Russac, D.A.V., Rushton, K.R. and Simpson, R.J. (1991) Insight into domestic demand from metering trial. Journal of the Institution of Water and Environmental Management 5 (3), 342–51.

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Wigley, T.M.L. and Jones, P.D. (1987) England and Wales precipitation: a discussion and an update of recent changes in variability and an update to 1985. Journal of Climatology 7, 231–44.

11 Water quality and pollution Bruce Webb

INTRODUCTION

Water in every phase of the hydrological cycle, from precipitation through terrestrial surface and groundwater systems to the marine environment, has a quality dimension that can be described by reference to numerous physical, chemical and biological properties, and is controlled by a myriad of natural factors and human influences. Water quality is of fundamental importance in the provision of potable supplies to sustain human life and in the health of aquatic ecosystems. It also significantly affects a wide range of human uses of water in industry, agriculture, transport and recreation. At the same time, these uses and other human activities, directly or indirectly, provide manifold sources of water contamination. Where the consequences or side-effects of human scientific, industrial and social habits result in conditions within the water environment that are harmful or unpleasant to life, the term ‘water pollution’ is used (Sweeting 1994). Acute water quality problems, however, may also arise from natural climatic or geological conditions. Problems of freshwater pollution, on which the present chapter focuses, have a long history and have changed in character as world population has grown and human technological capability has increased and become more complex. Local contamination of the aquatic environment has been recognised for at least two millennia, and in some countries legal means were taken to prevent water pollution as early as medieval times. In the UK, for example, laws were passed in the

thirteenth century to prohibit washing the products of charcoal burning in the River Thames (ibid.). Water pollution, and its deleterious consequences for human and ecosystem health, has accelerated since the nineteenth century with the increasing urbanisation and industrialisation of human society and intensification of agriculture to support an ever-growing population (UNEP/ WHO 1988). One of the first documented examples of the inimical effects of bad water quality concerned the outbreaks of cholera in London, which were traced by John Snow in 1854 to the gross pollution of the River Thames by raw sewage. Problems of faecal contamination of rivers used for public water supply in developed economies were subsequently largely solved by the invention of sand filtration and the use of chlorination.The sequence of problem occurrence and perception followed by the application of control measures is one that has been repeated, especially during the last fifty years (Figure 11.1). Over this period, increases in public awareness of pollution, in the ability to develop remedial measures and in the political will to implement strategies to control water contamination have to a certain extent paralleled the rapid emergence of a succession of water quality problems. A conceptual model of water pollution occurrence and control has been proposed by Meybeck et al. (1989) using the example of the history of domestic sewage contamination in Western Europe over the last two centuries (Box 11.1).This model can also be applied to other types of pollution and to countries that have different

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Figure 11.1 Sequence of occurrence and perception of severe water pollution problems in Europe.

Source: After Meybeck et al. 1989.

Box 11.1 A conceptual model of water pollution occurrence and control

Four phases were recognised in the conceptual model control devised by Meybeck et al. (1989) that relates water pollution occurrence and control to economic development. The first phase is typical of an agricultural society when levels of pollution are low and tend to increase linearly with population growth. In the second phase, which characterises newly industrialised countries, pollution increases exponentially with industrial production, energy consumption and agricultural intensification. The third phase, which occurs in highly industrialised countries, sees

patterns of economic development. In the latter case, however, the time scale of the phases is different to that experienced in Western Europe. In rapidly developing nations such as Brazil, China and

containment of pollution problems as a result of implementing effective control strategies (mechanical and biological wastewater treatment), while the fourth phase is the desired ultimate situation where contamination is reduced to a level that is ecologically tolerable and does not interfere with water use. Where no pollution control is enacted, levels continue to rise rapidly and severe damage to the environment occurs. If limited controls (mechanical sewage treatment) are employed pollution rises more slowly but may eventually cause severe damage.

India, for example, population growth and transition from an agricultural to an industrialised society is taking place at a much faster rate than occurred in Western Europe and North America.

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In consequence, the sequence of pollution problems is emerging over decades rather than centuries. In many countries of Eastern Europe, industrialisation and agricultural intensification have proceeded at a similar pace to that of Western Europe, but pollution has risen to the level of severe damage because environmental regulation has been slow or lacking. Water pollution and control is affected not only by conditions within a particular country but also by factors operating at an international scale, such as the effects of long-range transfer of pollutants in the atmosphere, climate change and nuclear accidents (Peters et al. 1998). It is increasingly being recognised that issues of water quality and pollution are as critical as issues of water scarcity, although freshwater vulnerability may be most severe when problems of water contamination are combined with water shortage. Reference has been made recently to an emerging global crisis of water quality. The dimensions of this crisis include the death of five million people annually from waterborne diseases, the loss of biodiversity and the occurrence of ecosystem dysfunction, the contamination of freshwater and marine ecosystems from land-based activities, the pollution of groundwater resources, and global contamination by persistent organic pollutants (Ongley 1996). Many experts now believe that freshwater quality will become the principal limiting factor for sustainable development in many countries early in the twenty-first century (Ongley 1999), and already in China the aggregate cost of water pollution to the national economy has been estimated as 0.5 per cent of GDP (Smil 1996).

THE NATURE OF WATER QUALITY PROBLEMS

Table 11.1 summarises major issues of freshwater quality and highlights the great diversity of pollution problems that currently affect the surface and groundwaters of the Earth. Water quality varies naturally in space and time in response to climatic, geological, pedogenic, biotic and hydrological factors (e.g.Walling 1980;Walling and

Webb 1986; Meybeck 1996), and natural ecological and climatic conditions may give rise to contamination by parasites, salts and metals, especially in groundwater reservoirs. A greater number of water quality issues, however, are related to human activities, which may cause freshwater pollution at varying spatial scales from local (less than 104 km2) and regional (105– 106 km2) to global (107–108 km 2). The severity of pollution is usually inversely related to the size of the water body impacted. Temporal scale is also significant in water quality issues, because the time it takes for freshwater to become polluted and the per iod required for remediation of the contamination varies according to the source of the problem and the hydrological environment affected (see Table 11.1).Thus, accidental chemical spillage into a r iver will have an almost instantaneous effect, but the transit time of the pollutant from headwaters to the mouth of the system, even in major rivers, will be of the order of weeks or months, and the system will recover rapidly. In contrast, it may take several decades for fertiliser pollutants to migrate from the soil profile to an underlying aquifer (Burt and Trudgill 1993), while retention or absorption of the pollutant by soils and bedrock may make the clean-up period more protracted than the contamination phase. A number of major sources of freshwater pollution can be identified. Organic pollution

Domestic sewage is one of the most significant and widespread sources of organic matter added to freshwaters by human activity, and it causes pollution at local, regional and continental scales (UNEP/WHO 1988). It has been estimated that for major European rivers, such as the Rhine, growth in human population since pre-industrial times has been associated with a three-fold increase in the organic carbon burden (Zobrist and Stumm 1981).Today, domestic sewage remains a major cause of river pollution in developed countries (Sweeting 1994), while lack of sanitation and inadequate waste management amplify this problem for a large percentage of the world’s

Source: Peters et al. 1998. Notes: 1 * is relevant primarily to surface water and ** is relevant primarily to groundwater. 2 Space scales: local—3 years old) on ultisols/oxisols found that forest soils had higher extractable NO3–N and total inorganic N concentrations than pasture soils. Rates of net N mineralisation and net nitrification were higher in the forest soils (Neill et al. 1997; Anderson and Spencer 1991: 40). Nitrogen and nitrification rates remained the same across the six forest plots tested, suggesting that the controls are similar. The low mineralisation and nitrification rates in pasture soils suggest that annual nitrogen losses from deforested landscapes may be lower than from the original forest (Neill et al. 1997). In the Barbudal Reserve, Costa Rica, tests have confirmed that soil C, N and K were lower, while many base cations and micro-nutrients were higher in grassland plots than in forest plots (Johnson and Wedin 1997). The removal of tree biomass by logging removes on averages 30 and 15 Mg ha-1 of carbon from seasonally moist and seasonally dry forests, respectively. The rotting of roots may add 50 Mg ha-1 (Anderson and Spencer 1991). The amount of C that is lost to the system varies with many environmental factors as well as with the way the land is cleared and used subsequently. In soils under grazed pastures converted from forest 18– 25 years previously were investigated in Costa Rica. The net loss of C was 2180 g m2 for a hapludand and 150 g m2 for the humitropept soil (van Dam et al. 1997).

DEFORESTATION Gaston et al. (1998) produced a GIS-based macro-scale study of changes in ecosystem carbon pools caused by land conversion in Africa’s tropical forests. They estimate that the aboveground forest biomass accounts for 75 per cent of the total carbon, below-ground forest biomass for 21 per cent, and grass/shrub savannahs for 4 per cent. Mean biomass C densities are reported as 180 Mg ha-1 for lowland moist forests, 82 Mg ha-1 for all forests, and 6 Mg ha-1 for grass savannahs. Forest conversion, 1980–90, caused a 13 per cent decrease in the above-ground forest carbon pool, including 5.6 per cent due to deforestation and 7.4 per cent to biomass reduction by other human activities (ibid.). In Brazil, deforestation and burning has increased carbon monoxide and ozone concentrations in the lower atmosphere (Kirchoff 1996). The microbial coenoses of tropical forest soils remain largely unexplored. A recent Amazonian study described 100 sequences of genes, ninetyeight of which were bacterial and two archaean. No duplicate sequences were found, and none of the sequences had been previously described (Bornemann and Triplett 1997). Eighteen per cent of the bacterial sequences could not be classified in any known bacterial family. There were significant microbial population differences between a mature forest soil and an adjacent pasture soil. Vesicular arbuscular mycorrhiza are endophytic fungal symbionts that aid plant growth by increasing the uptake of soil nutrients. Johnson and Wedin (1997) examined mycorrhizae during conversion of dry tropical forest to grassland in Costa Rica. They found that while the beta diversity of mycorrhizal spore communities was lower in the grassland plots than in the forest plots, total spore density and alpha diversity of mycorrhizal spore communities were unaffected by conversion to pasture or by subsequent burning. These results suggest that forest regeneration would not be constrained by any lack of mycorrhizal symbionts. Johnson and Wedin suggest that the grasslands are sustainable, alternative stable states for these former forest areas. Positive feedback between the grassland vegetation, fire and nutrient cycling systems reinforce this condition.

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It is well known that tropical rain forests are large and complex ecosystems. They rank among the world’s greatest reserves for biodiversity and offer huge pools of potentially useful species and genes (Reading et al. 1995:151–5; Wilson 1992). Environmentalists argue that we may be losing 50–200 species each day, and that current rates of extinction are five orders or magnitude above the geological norm (Myers 1995:179 et seq.). Myers continues to suggest that the biodiversity of the Earth could be halved by the middle of the next century and that, if this happens, tropical deforestation will have been the reason. Naturally, these numbers are contested. However, loss of biodiversity is not the only biogeographical impact. Biogeographical changes also result from ecological invasions and habitat fragmentation. For example, in the Himalaya, mined areas, roadsides and degraded vegetated areas have provided avenues for the invasions of exotic species such as Celosia argentea, Lantana camara, and Eupatorium glandulosum (Rajwar 1998). Once established, Lantana spreads into shrub land and forest, and Eupatorium into montane grassland. Their competitive advantage is secured by high primary productivity and by non-palatability to grazing animals (ibid.). Once established in disturbed sites, these exotics often spread into less disturbed areas. Many more dramatic tales come from tropical Oceania and Australasia, where ecological invasions by species like the cane toads in Queensland and mynah birds on Rarotonga have had major impacts on the numbers and range of indigenous species. Deforestation can also influence the epidemiology of disease. For example, when coffee prices doubled in 1986, this prompted large-scale deforestation for coffee plantations in southern Thailand. The increased area of standing water favoured Anopheles minimus, a highly efficient vector of malaria. The new plantations also attracted migrants from endemic and nonendemic areas. In 1986–7, an epidemic wreaked havoc among the non-immune mig rants

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(Kondrashin 1991). Walsh et al. (1993) review the relationship between deforestation and several other vector-borne diseases apart from malaria, including the arboviruses; Chagas’ disease, leishmaniasis, loiasis, lymphatic filar iasis, onchocerciasis, and schistosomiasis.

REFORESTATION

A huge volume of work is published on the problems and processes of forest reconstruction (Lamb et al. 1995). The environmental impacts of reforestation are not the reverse of those due to deforestation. Many of the impacts of deforestation occur because of the loss of the forest soil and litter layers. New forests mine the environment for nutrients. They accelerate weathering and fracture rocks for anchorage. New forests may have very different environmental contexts from the forests they replace. Schreier et al. (1998) had to resort to GIS modelling to deconstruct Nepal’s record in afforestation. Among other things, in Nepal, new plantations tend to be located on relatively gentle slopes, while deforested areas are more often on erodible steep lands (ibid.). In fact, the results from research into the impacts of reforestation are full of surprises.Awaiting publication are findings showing that on steep grazed pastures, there is a positive correlation between trees and erosion, because animals congregate beneath trees, and trees planted on steep banks may reduce erosion by threequarters, even in the absence of forest soil and litter layers. Finally, results from Japan demonstrate that reforestation in mountains can lead to long-term increases in streamflow, despite the increased losses to evapotranspiration— perhaps due to rain harvesting or more likely due to changes in deep seepage to groundwater (Shibano 1998).

CONCLUSION

The causes of deforestation are complex. The research literature is gigantic, complex, multidisciplinary, scattered and often-hard to evaluate. However, the main cause of deforestation

remains clear. Deforestation is a byproduct of development. Deforestation’s foot soldiers may be the rural poor who, lured by promises of economic gain or driven by scarcity, clear more and more forest land. Their lieutenants may be national administrations eager to expand their national economies and win foreign exchange. However, neither the rural poor nor their struggling national governments are capable of preventing deforestation. As the World Bank analysts prove, their economic best interests usually lie elsewhere (Chomitz and Kumar i 1996). Deforestation might be halted by concerted international action although, at present, despite the noise of the environmentalists, the political will needed to effect change simply does not exist. However, international action cannot halt the most important cause of deforestation. The developing world must develop. Deforestation is the hallmark of human civilisation. It marks the conversion of a traditional economy to a modern agricultural and urban economy. It has affected everywhere that civilised society has taken root. The main factor that divides the progress of deforestation in the developing world from that in the developed world is that, in the latter, deforestation has already taken place. Certainly, deforestation is also an agency of environmental degradation, and it can be the nemesis of development. On the loess plateau of China, deforestation converted an economically and culturally advanced society into an impoverished and backward one (Fang and Xie 1994). Similar tales are told for places as diverse as North Africa, Central America and Easter Island. However, deforestation continues, and will continue, because it is in the immediate rational self-interest of those who destroy forests to do so. Preventing deforestation will require a major change in cultural values, social attitudes and, most especially, the economic rules of play. This is possible. In northern Europe and China, the rate of forest increase exceeds extraction, albeit for different reasons. Meanwhile, the developed world conspires towards the deforestation of the underdeveloped. It still deploys more economic muscle in favour of those who deforest than

DEFORESTATION towards those who manage their forests sustainably. Deforestation is dr iven by international trade, by government policies, by regional priorities and local economics. Still, the situation is not wholly bad. True, deforestation affects many aspects of the environment adversely. Forests, especially tropical forests, are major and largely unexplored reserves of biodiversity. Deforestation effects a transformation of the ecology, soils and waters of affected lands, which is usually negative. It has major impacts on climatic and biogeochemical processes at various scales from micro- to macro-, which are mainly damaging. Large tropical forests, especially the Amazon rain forest, play a key role in the geophysiological regulation of the Earth’s atmosphere and climate. Forests are major sinks of CO2 and forests play an important role in the moderation of global warming (Lovelock 1991). However, at the local scale, deforestation is not necessarily a disaster. In many cases, it is possible to convert forest land to new, sustainable and more economically productive land uses. Even where this fails, then, if tree growth is not actively prevented then, in most cases, the forests, especially the tropical forests, can and will regenerate. GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Bruijnzeel, L.A. (1990) Hydrology of Moist Tropical Forests and Effects of Conversion: A State of Knowledge Review. Par is: UNESCO/IHP: 224 pp. An impartial overview of the state of the an in tropical forest hydrological research. Haigh, M.J. (1994) Deforestation in the Himalaya. In Roberts, N. (ed.) The Changing Global Environment. Oxford: Blackwell, 440–62. A review of the three main viewpoints on the causes, degree, physical consequences and management implications of deforestation in the Himalaya. Haigh, M.J. and Krecek, J. (eds) (1991) Special feature on headwater management. Land Use Policy 8(3): 171–205.Three key case studies of the impacts of deforestation in headwater regions including field evidence of the drying up of springs in the Himalaya, the conseqences of over-zealous timber

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extraction in Thailand, and a classic case of environmental reconstruction after deforestation from theYazoo Highlands of Mississippi. Lovelock, J.E. (1991) Gaia: The Practical Science of Planetary Medicine. Stroud: Gaia Books. This is an introductory overview of the current state of the planetary system, including the role of the tropical forests. Written by one of the greatest and most progressive scientific thinkers of our time, this book also sketches out a new way of conceiving and interacting with Planet Earth. Murali, K.S. and Hegde, R. (1997). Patterns of tropical deforestation. Journal of Tropical Forest Science 9, 465–76. An overview of tropical deforestation written by and for the foresters in the tropical nations. Myers, N. (1993) Tropical forests—the main deforestation fronts. Environmental Conservation 20(1), 9–16. A sample broadside from one of the great environmentalist campaigners, author of ‘The Sinking Ark’ (Oxford: Pergamon, 1980) who has carved his niche in the world by acting as spokesperson for the world’s guilty conscience and by shouting out truths that others might rather not hear. These days, it is easier to access a web site than find a book.The United Nations system and some of the larger environmental organisations have excellent web resources that offer an up-date of both the international actions and assessments of the deforestation problems in the years after Rio and its Agenda 21. Here follow some key sources: UNCED (1992) Report of the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (Rio de Janeiro, 3–14 June 1992). Chapter 11: Combating Deforestation. New York: United Nations a/Conf. 151/26 (Vol. II) 14pp. [gopher.//gopher.un.org:70/ 00/conf/unced/English/a21_11.txt] FAO (Food and Agriculture Organisation of the United Nations) (1997) Agenda 21 Progress Report. Sustainable Development Dimensions/ Environmental Policy, Planning and Management Special, Chapters 10: Land Resources, 11: Deforestation, 14: Sustainable Agriculture, [http:/ /www.fao.org/sd/Epdirect/Epre033htm]

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World Resources Institute (1996) Forests and land cover. In World Resources 1996–1997: Guide to the Global Environment: 9. Washington: World Resources Institute http://www.igc.org/wri/wr96–97/lc_txt2.html] REFERENCES Anderson, J.M. and Spencer.T. (1991) Carbon, nutrient and water balances of tropical rainforest ecosystems subject to disturbance—management implications and research proposals. MAB Digest 7, Paris: UNESCO. Angelen, A. (1995) Shifting cultivation and ‘deforestation’: a study from Indonesia. World Development 23(10), 1713–29. Asano,Y., Ohte, N., Katsuyama, M. and Kobashi, S. (1998) Changes of hydrochemical formation processes by forest succession stages. In: Haigh, M.J., KreceK, J., Rajwar. G.S. and M.P Kilmartin (eds) Headwaters: Hydrology and Soil Conservation. Rotterdam: A.A.Balkema, 85–97. Bak, P. (1997) How Nature Works: The Science of Self-ordered Criticality. Oxford. Bari, M.A., Smith, N., Ruprecht, J.K. and Boyd, B.W., (1996) Changes in streamflow components following logging and regeneration in the southern forest of Western Australia. Hydrological Processes 10, 447–61. Barker, D. (ed.) (1984) Vegetation and Slopes: Stabilisation, Protection and Ecology. London: Institution of Civil Engineers. Bartarya, S.K. (1991) Watershed management strategies in Central Himalaya: the Gaula river basin, Kumaun, India. Land Use Policy 8(3), 177–84. Bawa, K.S. and Dayanandan, S. (1997) Socioeconomic factors and tropical deforestation. Nature 386: 562–3. Bornemann, J. and Triplett, E.W. (1997) Molecular microbial diversity in soils from eastern Amazonia: evidence for unusual microorganisms and microbial population shifts associated with deforestation. Applied and Environmental Microbiology 63(7), 2647–53. Brothers, T.S. (1997) Deforestation in the Dominica Republic: a village-level view. Environmental Conservation 24(3), 213–23. Brown, K. and Pearce, D.W. (eds) (1994) The Causes of Tropical Deforestation. London: University College of London Press. Bulte, E., and van Soest, D. (1996) Tropical deforestation, timber concessions, and slash-and-burn agriculture— why encroachment may promote conservation of primary forests. Journal of Forest Economics 2(1), 55–66.

Bunch, R. (1984) Two Ears of Corn: A Guide to People Centred Agricultural Improvement. Oklahoma City:World Neighbors. Castro, N.M.R., Auzet, A.V., Bordas, M.P, Chevallier, P., Leprun, J.-C. and Mietton, M. (1997) Ecoulement et transfer des sediments dans les bassins versants de grande culture sure basalte due Rio Grande do Sul (Bresil). International Association of Hydrological Sciences, Fifth Scientific Assembly (Rabat, Morocco) S6, 65–73. Centeno, J.C. (1996) Deforestation—out of control in Venezuela. Global Biodiversity 5, 4–8. Charoenphong, S. (1991) Environmental calamity in southern Thailand’s headwaters: causes and remedies. Land Use Policy 8(3), 185–88. Chomitz, K.M and Gray, D. (1996) Roads, land use, and deforestation: a spatial model applied to Belize. World Bank Economic Review 10, 487–512. Chomitz, K.M. and Kumari, K. (1996) The domestic benefits of tropical forests: a critical review emphasizing hydrological functions. World Bank Policy Research Working Paper WPS1601, 1–41. Darby, H.C. (1956) The clearing of the woodland in Europe. In Thomas, W.L. (ed.) Man’s Role in Changing the Face of the Earth I. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 183–216. Dembner, S.A. (ed.) (1996) Forest-dependent people. Unasylva 47(3), 2–59. De Moraes, J.F.L.,Volkoff. B., Cerri, C.C., and M. Bernoux, M. (1996) Soil properties under Amazon forest and changes due to pasture installation in Rondonia, Brazil. Geoderma 70(1), 63–81. Derose, R.C., Trustrum, N.A. and Blaschke, P.M. (1993) Post-deforestation soil loss from steepland hillslopes in Taranaki, New Zealand. Earth Surface Processes and Landforms 18(2), 131–44. Department for International Development (1998) Forests Matter: The DFID Approach to Forests. London: Department for International Development. Dickinson, R.E. (ed.) (1987) The Geophysiology of Amazonia. NewYork: Doubleday. Downton, M.W. (1995) Measurement of tropical deforestation: development of the methods. Environmental Conservation 22(3), 229–40. Dove, M.R. (1993) A revisionist view of tropical deforestation and development. Environmental Conservation 20(1), 17–25. Dudley, N., Jeanrenaud, J.P. and Sullivan, F. (1995) Bad Harvest? The Timber Trade and the Degradation of the World’s Forests. London: Earthscan. Duffy, P.J. and Ursic, S. (1991) Land rehabilitation success in theYazoo Basin, USA. Land Use Policy 8(3), 196–205.

DEFORESTATION Fang, J.Q. and Xie, Z.R. (1994) Deforestation in preindustrial China: using the loess plateau as an example. Chemosphere 29(5), 983–99. Fear nside, P.M. (1997) Greenhouse gases from deforestation in Brazilian Amazonia: net committed emissions. Climatic Change 35(3), 321–60. Finley, J.B. and Drever, J.I. (1997). Chemical mass balance and rates of mineral weathering in a high elevation catchment,Wyoming. Hydrological Processes 11, 745–64. Forti, M.C., Neal, C. and Jenkins, A. (1995) Modelling perspective of the deforestation impact in stream-water quality of small preserved forested areas in the Amazonian rain forest. Water, Air and Soil Pollution 79, 325–37. Froelich, W. and Starkel, L. (1993) The effects of deforestation on slope and channel evolution in the tectonically active Darjeeling Himalaya. Earth Surface Processes and Landforms 18(3), 285–90. Gade, D.W. (1996) Deforestation and its effects in highland Madagascar. Mountain Research and Development. 16(2), 101–16; Gaston, G., Brown, S., Lorenzini, M. and Singh, K.D. (1998) State and change in carbon pools in the forests of tropical Africa. Global Change Biology 4(1), 97–114. Grainger, A. (1993) Rates of deforestation in the humid tropics: estimates and measurements. Geographical Journal 159(1), 33–44. Haigh, M.J. (1984) Ravine erosion and reclamation in India. Geoforum 15(4), 542–61. Haigh, M.J. (1985) Agrobotanic research among the shifting cultivators of Xishuangbanna, Southwest China: lessons for the Himalaya. Himalayan Research and Development 4 (1), 1–4. Haigh.M.J. (1990) Shifting agriculture (jhum) and environmental devastation: the search for a solution. In NK.Sah, S.D.Bhatt and RK.Pande (eds) Himalaya: Environment, Resources and Development. Almora, UP, India: Shree Almora Book Depot, 37–76. Haigh.M.J. (1999) Headwater control: despatches from the research front. In Haigh, M.J. and Krecek, J. (eds) Environmental Regeneration in Headwater Areas. NATO ASI (2. Environment) Series Dordrecht, Kluwer, 9–37. Haigh, M.J., Rawat, J.S. and Bartarya, S.K. (1988) Entropy minimising landslide systems. Current Science 57(18), 1000–2. Haigh, M.J., Rawat, J.S., Rawat, M.S., Bartarya, S.K. and Rai, S.P. (1995) Interactions between forest and landslide activity along new highways in the Kumaun Himalaya. Forest Ecology and Management 78, 173–89. Haigh, M.J., Singh, R.B. and Krecek, J. (1998) Headwater control: matters arising. In Haigh, M.J. Krecek, J.,

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Rajwar, G.S. and Kilmartin, M.P. (eds) Headwaters:Water Resources and Soil Conservation, Rotterdam: A.A.Balkema, 3–24. Hajabbasi, M.A., Jalalian, A. and Karimzadeh, H.R. (1997) Deforestation effects on soil physical and chemical properties, Lordegan, Iran. Plant and Soil 190, 301–8. Harding, K.A. and Ford, D.C. (1993) Impacts of primary deforestation upon limestone slopes in northern Vancouver Island, Br itish Columbia. Environmental Geology 21(3), 137–43. Hellin, J. and Larrea, S. (1997) Live barriers on hillside farms: are we really addressing farmer’s needs? Agroforestry Forum 8(4), 17–21. Ishengoma, R.C., Gillah, P.R. and Kiwale, A.Y. (1995) Charcoal production, consumption and deforestation in Magu District, Mwanza, Tanzania. Annals of Forestry 3(2), 138–46. Jang, C.J., Nishigami, Y. and Yanagisawa,Y. (1996) Assessment of global forest change between 1986 and 1993 using satellite-derived terrestrial net primary productivity. Environmental Conservation 23(4), 315–21. Johnson, A.C. (1993) The association between landslides and yellow cedar decline in southeast Alaska. Eos (American Geophysical Union) 74, 315. Johnson, A.C. and Wilcock, P. (1998) Effect of root strength and soil saturation on hillslope stability in forests, SE Alaska. In Haigh, M.J., Krecek, J., Rajwar, G.S. and Kilmartin, M.P. (eds) Headwaters:Water Resources and Soil Conservation. Rotterdam: A.A.Balkema, 381–90. Johnson, D.L. and Lewis, L.A. (1995) Land Degradation: Creation and Destruction. Oxford: Blackwell: 335pp. Johnson, N.C. and Wedin, D.A. (1997) Soil carbon, nutrients, and mycorrhizae during conversion of dry tropical forest to grassland. Ecological Applications 7, 171–82. Kaimowitz, D. (1996) Livestock and deforestation in Central America in the 1980’s and 1990’s: a policy perspective. Ciencias Veterinarias Heredia. 1996 (1–2), 113–61. Kirchoff,V.W.J.H. (1996) Increasing concentrations of CO and O3: rising deforestation rates and increasing tropospher ic carbon monoxide and ozone in Amazonia. Environmental Science and Pollution Research International 3(4), 210–12. Kondrashin, A.V. (1991) Deforestation for agriculture and its impact on malaria in southern Thailand. Sharma V.P., Suvannadabba S. (eds) Forest Malaria in Southeast Asia: Proceedings of an Informal Consultative Meeting: February 1991. WHO-MRC, 221–6. Kustudia, M. (1998) Cornucos, campesinos and the contested cordillera. Forests, Trees and People, Newsletter 36/37, 26–33.

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Lai, H.G. (1985) To stop the Yellow Dragon with a Green Ocean. Commonwealth Forestry Review 64(3), 251–8. Lal, R. (1996) Deforestation and land-use effects on soil degradation and rehabilitation in western Nigeria. I. Soil physical properties and soil erosion II. Soil chemical properties. III. Runoff and nutrient loss. Land Degradation and Development. 7, 19–45, 87–98, 99–119. Lal, R. (1997) Deforestation effects on soil degradation and rehabilitation in western Nigeria. IV. Hydrology and water quality. Land Degradation and Development 8, 95–126. Lal, R., Sanchez, P.A. and Cummings, D.J. (1985) Land Clearing and Development in the Tropics. Rotterdam: A.A.Balkema. Lamb, D., Howell, S., Read,T. and Broekstra, L. Linnard,W. (1982) Welsh Woods and Forests: History and Utilisation. Cardiff: National Museum. Lovelock, J.E. (1990) Visionary Voices. VV506. Forres, Scotland:Whole World Productions. Marengo, J.A. (1995) Variations and change in South American stream flow. Climatic Change 31(1), 99–117. McNeil, J. (1982) Mountains of the Mediterranean World. Cambridge University Press. Mendiondo, E., Castro, N., Auzet, A.V. and Chevallier, P. (1998) Surface flow pathways in subtropical agricultural headwaters: a case study from Southern Brazil. In Haigh, M.J., Krecek, J., Rajwar. G.S., and M.P.Kilmartin (eds) Headwaters: Hydrology and Soil Conservation. Rotterdam, A.A.Balkema, 285–93. Merry, F.D. and Carter, D.R. (1997) Certified wood markets in the US: implications for tropical deforestation. Forest Ecology and Management 92, 221–8. Myers, N. (1995) Ultimate Security: Environmental Basis of Political Security. New York:W.W.Norton. Myers, N. (1994) Tropical deforestation: rates and patterns. In Brown, K. and Pearce, D.W. (eds) The Causes of Tropical Deforestation. London: University College of London Press, 27–40. Neal, C., Smith, C.J. and Hill, S. (1992) Forestry impact on upland water quality. Institute of Hydrology (Wallingford, UK.) Special Report 119, 1–50. Neill, C., Piccolo, M.C., Cerri, C.C., Steudler, P.A., Melillo, J.M. and Brito, M. (1997) Net nitrogen mineralization and net nitrification rates in soils following deforestation for pasture across the southwestern Brazilian Amazon Basin landscape. Oecologia. 110, 243–52. Nicholson, C.F., Blake. R.W. and Lee, D.R. (1995) Livestock, deforestation, and policy making: intensification of cattle production systems in Central America revisited. Journal of Dairy Science 78(3), 719–34. Noever, D. (1993) Himalayan sandpiles. Physical Review E47(1), 724–5.

Noever, D., Brittain, A., Matsos, H.C., Baskaran, S. and Obenhuber, D. (1996) Effects of variable biome distribution on global climate. Biosystems 39(2), 135–11. Nygren, A. (1995) Deforestation in Costa Rica: an examination of social and historical factors. Forest and Conservation History 39(1), 27–35. Ohte, N., Asano Y. and Tokuchi, N. (1998) Geographical var iation in acid buffer ing processes in forest catchments, in Haigh, M.J., Krecek, J., Rajwar, G.S. and M.P Kilmartin (eds) Headwaters: Hydrology and Soil Conservation. Rotterdam: A.A.Balkema, 69–84. Parisi, P. and Glantz, M.H. (1992) Deforestation and public policy. The World and I (November 1992): 270–7. Pereira, H.C. (1989) Policy and Practice in the Management of Tropical Watersheds. Boulder: Westview, London: Belhaven. Price, M. (1998) Sustainable mountain development: the roles of forests. In Haigh, M.J., Krecek, J., Rajwar. G.S. and M.P Kilmartin (eds) Headwaters: Hydrology and Soil Conservation, Rotterdam, A.A.Balkema, 443–50. Rajwar, G.S. (1998). Changes in plant diversity and related problems for environmental management in the headwaters of the Garhwal Himalaya. In Haigh, M.J., Krecek, J., Rajwar, G.S. and M.P Kilmartin (eds) Headwaters: Hydrology and Soil Conservation, Rotterdam, A.A.Balkema, 335–44. Reading, A.J., Thompson, R.D. and Millington, A.C. (1995) Humid Tropical Environments. Oxford: Blackwell. Repetto, R. and Gillis, M. (eds) (1988) Public Policies and Misuse of Forest Resources. Cambridge University Press. Rudel, T. and Roper, J. (1997) The paths to rain forest destruction: cross national patter ns of tropical deforestation, 1975–90. World Development 25, 53–65. Sahin,V. and Hall, M.J. (1996) Effects of afforestation and deforestation on water yields. Journal of Hydrology 178(1–4), 293–309. Sandstrom, K. (1995) Differences in groundwater response to deforestation—a continuum of interactions between hydro-climate, landscape characteristics and time. Geojournal 35(4), 539–46. Saxena, A.K. and Nautiyal, J.C. (1997) Analyzing deforestation: a dynamic systems approach. Journal of Sustainable Forestry 5 (3–4), 51–80. Schreier, H., Brown, S., Carver, M. and Shah, P.B. (1998) Nutrient and sediment transport in a degraded middle mountain watershed in Nepal. In Haigh, M.J., Krecek, J., Rajwar. G.S. and Kilmartin, M.P. (eds) Headwaters: Hydrology and Soil Conservation, Rotterdam: A.A.Balkema, 315–28. Shaxson, T.F. (1995) Principles of good land husbandry. Enable 5, 4–13.

DEFORESTATION Shaxson,T.F. et al. (1989) Land Husbandry: A Framework for Soil andWater Conservation. Ankeny, Iowa:WASWC/SWCS. Shibano, H. (1998) Effects of forest regeneration on the water budget of small catchments in the mountains of Central Japan. In Haigh, M.J., Krecek, J., Rajwar. G.S. and M.P Kilmartin (eds) Headwaters: Hydrology and Soil Conservation. Rotterdam: A.A.Balkema, 273–83. Skole, D. and Tucker, C. (1993) Tropical deforestation and habitat fragmentation in the Amazon: satellite data from 1978–1988. Science 260, 1905–10. Theng, B.K.G. (1991) Soil science in the tropics—the next 75 years. Soil Science 151(1), 76–90. Tole, L. (1998) Sources of deforestation in tropical developing countries. Environmental Management 22(1), 19–33. Valdiya, K.S. (1998) Dynamic Himalaya. Hyderabad: Universities Press. Vvan Dam, D., Veldkamp, E. and van Breemen. N. (1997) Soil organic carbon dynamics: variability with depth in forested and deforested soils under pasture in Costa Rica. Biogeochemistry 39(3), 343–75. Walsh, J.F. et al. (1993) Deforestation: effects on vector-borne disease. British Society for Parasitology, Symposium 30, 55–75.

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Wiersum, K. (1984) Surface erosion under various tropical agroforestry system. In O’Loughlin, C. and Pearce, A.J. (eds) Effect of Forest Land Use on Erosion and Slope Stability, Proceedings. IUFRO, 131–9. Wilson, E.O. (1992) The Diversity of Life. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press. Wunder, S. (1996) Deforestation and the uses of wood in the Ecuador ian Andes. Mountain Research and Development 16, 367–82. World Resources Institute (1994) The problem of forest loss. Washington: World Resources Institute: [http:// www.igc.org/wri/biodiv/opp-ii.html]. World Wildlife Fund (WWF) (1998a). Haze damage from 1997 Indonesian forest fires exceeds $1.3 billion study shows.World Wildlife Fund, [http://www.worldwildlife.org/ new/fires/dam.htm]. World Wildlife Fund (WWF) (1998b). Bur ning again: this year’s fires in the Amazon are the wor st ever. Washington: 3 Apr il 1998: World Wildlife Fund. [http://www.worldwildlife.org/new/ fires/home.htm].

15 Maintaining biodiversity Nick Brown

INTRODUCTION

Conservation is a management discipline that has traditionally looked to the biological sciences for its paradigms. However, many of the problems that have been encountered during the last decade have revealed that a strictly biological approach to conservation has proved inadequate. Conservation biology has, until quite recently, failed to take a geographical perspective and has no theoretical framework within which the role of human societies can be incorporated. Conservation needs to take account of both the geographical and social context within which management operations are occurring.This chapter will attempt to illustrate how conservation of biological diversity is a problem that geography is uniquely positioned to address.

TYPES AND SCALES OF BIODIVERSITY

Although it is common to think of biodiversity as synonymous with species richness, this is only one level at which variety is measured in organisms. There is a hierarchy of organismic variation from the genetic through the species and population levels to diversity in ecosystems. Functional, structural and age diversity may also be of great importance to the way that ecosystems operate. For example, structural diversity in British woodlands is one of the most important determinants of animal species richness.

Biological diversity is so widely accepted as being valuable that the reasons why it is valued are rarely carefully analysed. Table 15.1 lists a crude classification of the reasons for valuing biological diversity and examines the scales at which these might best operate. Not all levels of variation are equally valuable for all reasons. For example, the diversity of species in an ecosystem may fluctuate, while the diversity of functional or morphological types may remain relatively constant. Hawthorne (1993) has shown that logging of a Ugandan rain forest may actually increase species diversity. High levels of disturbance allow widespread pioneer species, including common agricultural weeds, to colonise along logging tracks and in clearings. These new arrivals more than compensate for the immediate loss of some forest species. Although the total species diversity increased, there was considerable turnover in composition, and functional and morphological diversity may well have decreased. Mares (1992) has pointed out that hotspots of species diversity may not necessarily coincide with areas of the highest genetic diversity. Tropical rain forests contain large numbers of very closely related species. For instance, on the island of Borneo there are approximately 267 species in the family Dipterocarpaceae. All are trees with very similar ecology. Closely related species may differ in less than 5 per cent of their nuclear DNA sequences. Conservation of all species of dipterocarp may preserve less genetic information than the conservation of many fewer but more distantly related species. In contrast, it is well established that

MAINTAINING BIODIVERSITY

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Table 15.1 The values of biological diversity.

many marine ecosystems have extraordinarily high levels of phylum diversity. As a consequence, although they may be less species-rich than many terrestrial ecosystems it is probable that they contain considerably greater total genetic diversity. All measures of diversity seem to be scaledependent. The total number of species can be measured at a point in space (often referred to as a-diversity). But community composition will vary from point to point across a habitat. For example, Newbery et al. (1992) found that in thirty-two adjacent 0.25 ha sub-plots in a Borneo rain forest, only 20 per cent of the species occurred in more than half of the plots. The turnover in species composition from point to point within a habitat is usually referred to as ß-diversity and is related to the size of species ranges. An a-diverse community may, nevertheless, be composed of widespread species.There will be a high degree of compositional similarity from place to place, and ß-diversity will be low.The Ugandan tropical rain

forest described by Hawthorne (1993) had high a-and ß-diversity. After logging had driven some forest species to local extinction and replaced them with widespread weeds, a-diversity remained high but ß-diversity almost certainly declined.

ECOLOGICAL PROCESSES GENERATING AND MAINTAINING DIVERSITY

There are clear patterns in species diversity at a global scale. Diversity tends to decrease with altitude and latitude. Isolated or geographically restricted areas have low diversity. However, some patterns are unexpected. Diversity often peaks but then declines along productivity and successional gradients. Unfortunately, despite decades of research activity there is still no widely accepted view as to which processes are pr imar ily responsible for creating these patterns of diversity. Without a sound under standing of how

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biologically diverse communities arise or are maintained any attempts at their conservation are likely to be largely haphazard. Ideas abound on the causes of high species diversity. To a considerable extent other levels of variation have been ignored. This undoubtedly reflects the comparative ease with which species diversity can be quantified and not that this level of biological diversification is of greater importance. The development of a rigorous classification of the functional attributes of an ecosystem presents a significant challenge for the environmental sciences. Species richness depends on the number of species that are able to maintain populations and reflects the balance between processes increasing and decreasing the number of individuals per species. Some of these processes have been the focus of a great deal of ecological research. They can be crudely characterised as falling into two groups: theories that describe ecological processes that occur at a local scale, and those that invoke biogeographical processes occurring at a regional scale or larger. Local-scale processes

Research by the Russian zoologist G.F.Gause during the 1930s demonstrated experimentally that a population would grow exponentially until it exhausted the supply of an important resource. The rate of supply of this resource would then set the equilibrium population size. Fur ther more, Gause showed that if the populations of two or more species were limited by the same resource they would inevitably compete for supplies. The species that was better able to capture the scarce resource would increase its population at the expense of the poorer competitor. Gause concluded that this weaker species would be driven to local extinction and therefore that species could not coexist if they had a common limiting resource. The corollary of this idea was that of the ‘niche’, that all coexisting organisms must have a unique combination of resource requirements in order to avoid competitive interactions. Ecologists

hypothesised that the more species that live in a particular habitat the narrower their individual resources bases will be. They argued that there would be a limit to how narrow niches could become. Beyond a certain point, species populations would become so small that they would be highly likely to go locally extinct. This limit to how similar species can be in their resource use means that the total amount of resource available in a particular habitat sets the upper limit to the number of species that can coexist. In summary, local conditions, ecologists argue, determine the maximum number of species that are found there. Phillips et al. (1994) concluded, from a study of twenty-five tropical forest sites, that the more dynamic forests are (measured from their mortality and recruitment rates) the greater their species diversity. They hypothesised that high levels of spatial and temporal variability in dynamic forests provided opportunities for a wide range of species. Clinebell et al. (1995) have recently demonstrated that annual rainfall and rainfall seasonality alone account for over 60 per cent of the variation in species richness in sixty-nine neotropical forests spread across the continent. The idea of ecosystems existing in equilibrium with environmental conditions has been elaborated to include the effects of interactions between species. One species population may become a resource for another to exploit, for example. Additionally, predator-prey relationships may prevent competition between prey species leading to extinctions. Janzen (1970) proposed that predators might prevent one species from driving competing species to extinction by feeding predominantly on those species that are most abundant. The more potential prey of a particular species there are around, the more likely it is that they will be eaten. This is termed a densitydependent process, since the rate of loss to predators depends directly on the abundance of prey. Competitively superior species populations may therefore be limited in size by losses to predators. Predation may thus help to maintain species diversity by preventing extinctions due to interspecific competition.Trophic interactions can

MAINTAINING BIODIVERSITY therefore mediate the equilibrium number of species found in a particular environment. The strength of interactions between species is known to differ. Some species appear to be disproportionately important in determining how their communities are structured.Terborgh (1986) has shown how only twelve plant species in a flora of approximately 2000 species at Cocha Cashu reserve in Peru sustain nearly the entire fruiteating animal community for three months of the year. Although the climate is tropical, flowering and fruiting are strongly seasonal and there are periods of the year when there is very little food available for frugivorous animals. Such species have become known as ‘keystone’ species. A keystone is the wedge-shaped stone at the apex of an arch that locks the whole structure together. If this stone is removed the whole arch will fall. If such species exist, clearly they should be a conservation priority. One prediction that stems from the competition hypothesis concerns the nature of changes that take place in a vegetation community in response to disturbance. Catastrophes such as storms, floods and fires kill off the dominant plants and create opportunities for pioneer plants to colonise. As succession proceeds, increasingly competitive plants invade and grow to dominate the community while the less competitive organisms are dr iven to local extinction. Ultimately, the community will consist of a stable mixture of the most competitive species, each with its own unique niche. A hypothesis put forward by J.H.Connell (1978) suggested that this equilibrium condition rarely, if ever, occurs. Connell pointed out that most natural environments are repeatedly disturbed by events of a range of magnitudes and at a variety of timescales. A high magnitude or frequency of disturbance will result in a community with a large proportion of pioneer and early successional plants. In contrast, the most competitive plants will dominate environments with rare or lowmagnitude disturbance. Intermediate levels of disturbance will allow opportunities for both guilds of plant to coexist and are therefore likely to maximise ecological diversity. Natural

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environmental disturbance may act in a very similar way to predation in preventing interspecific competition from leading to local extinctions. Regional-scale processes

Many ecologists are uncomfortably aware that the standard ecological models assume that localscale processes (such as competition and local disturbance regimes) determine the level of species diversity. However, as Ricklefs (1987) has pointed out, if these models were accurate areas that have very similar physical environments should support similar number of species. Community composition should correspond to limits set by local conditions alone, but there is a worrying lack of evidence for local determinism. Ricklefs argues that local diversity is strongly governed by much larger-scale biogeographical processes. Ecology, he claims, has ignored these scales because they are less amenable to experimentation and analysis. Preoccupation with trophic and competitive interactions has misled many ecologists into assuming that closed population processes alone can explain local population structure. A biogeog raphical perspective is required before population dynamics can be properly understood. Ricklefs and Schulter (1993) have proposed that species diversity is influenced by a hierarchy of processes, each one acting at a different temporal and spatial scale (Figure 15.1). At the very largest scale, global and regional processes both play a fundamental role in generating the pool of species from which regional communities are drawn. Regional processes determine how species disperse over space. All environments are patchy. As a direct consequence, the abundance of individuals is not constant across a species range. It is likely that there will be peaks of abundance where conditions are particularly favourable, and the population will decline or even disappear in less suitable habitat. Space, therefore is not continuously occupied by individuals; rather, they exist in a ser ies of small, interacting subpopulations. Andrewartha and Birch (1954)

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Figure 15.1 A hierarchy of processes determining species diversity.

proposed that since many of these local populations were small they would commonly go extinct, only to be re-established sometime later by the arrival of new individuals from elsewhere. They viewed the ‘metapopulation’ as rather like the lights on a Christmas tree.The tree is lit all the time, but individual lights flash on and off (Figure 15.2). This gives an important spatial structure to populations that ecology has failed to recognise. Many of the changes that occur in a local population cannot be understood without

Figure 15.2 Although the small local populations (A) frequently go extinct they combine to produce a metapopulation (B), which is relatively stable over time.

reference to regional processes of immigration and extinction. One of the very few ecological models to take such processes into account was the equilibr ium theory of island biogeography developed by MacArthur and Wilson (1967).Their model attempted to account for the number of organisms found on offshore islands in terms of the size and degree of isolation of the island.These two var iables deter mined the equilibr ium between the rate at which new species arrived and at which established species became extinct (Figure 15.3). These ideas were adopted, rather uncritically, by conservation biology. Rapid rates of habitat fragmentation are a major cause of decline in many species populations, and it was believed that residual habitat fragments might behave in a similar way to islands (Plate 15.1) (Simberloff and Abele 1976). This triggered a prolonged debate over what has become known as the SLOSS (single large or several small) problem; do a few large reserves maximise the chances of long-term survival for more species than a larger number of small reser ves? Regrettably, this debate ignored the important contribution of metapopulation dynamics to the understanding of the behaviour of fragmented habitats. Although specific extinction and dispersal

MAINTAINING BIODIVERSITY Figure 15.3 Immigration and extinction rates determine the equilibrium number of species that inhabit an island. Immigration rates vary with proximity to the mainland. Extinction rates vary with the size of island.

Source: MacArthur and Wilson 1967.

rates are important in maintaining local populations, they may not be critical for the survival of the metapopulation as a whole. The metapopulation is much more dependent on the spatial arrangement of habitat fragments. A small habitat patch, for example, may be too small to support a viable local population but may be a

crucial stepping stone in the recolonisation of other patches. A key difference is that not all patches need to be occupied all the time by all species in order to serve a very important conservation function (Hanski 1996). Some highquality habitat areas may act as sources for emigration to inferior sink areas where mortality exceeds the birth rate. As a consequence, although such sink patches may be occupied they may not necessarily be able to support a viable local population. Any attempts at species conservation would need to recognise that many local populations may not be at equilibrium, and regional processes may be crucial in sustaining the metapopulation. Landscape ecology has developed some indices of spatial pattern (O’Neill et al. 1988) (Figure 15.4). Dominance describes the abundance of a particular habitat type in the landscape. Contagion expresses the degree to which habitat fragments are clustered or dispersed. Fractal dimension describes the complexity of patch shape. Little progress has yet been made in exploring the relationship between these indices and metapopulation dynamics. Figure 15.4 Indices of spatial structure in landscape ecology.

Source: Adapted from O’Neill et al. 1988. Plate 15.1 Regional metapopulation processes may be crucial in sustaining species populations in habitat fragments such as small woods in an agricultural landscape.

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Box 15.1 Determining the species status of the green frog Globally, there has been a recent and alarming decline in populations of many amphibians. Populations may show high natural variation, and therefore there has been considerable debate over the extent to which widespread decline reflects a serious conservation problem or just a stochastic fluctuation. The only way that a satisfactory answer can be found is to mount long-term monitoring of species numbers. Many amphibians live in isolated habitat patches that may interact as part of a large metapopulation. Hecnar and M’Closkey (1997) monitored the distribution and abundance of a common green frog (Rana clamitans mellanota) in 160 ponds in southwestern Ontario, Canada, at a variety of scales in order to discover how the population was changing. The geen frog is capable of inhabiting a wide range of permamanent ponds. Subadults leave the pond where they are born and disperse up to five km to a new site. Turnover in the population is high, with very few adults living longer than five years. Wetlands in southern Ontario covered over 60 per cent of the land area up to 100 years ago. Extensive drainage for agriculture means that wetlands now cover less than 10 percent. In this survey, the number of green frogs at each pond in three regions was counted. At a geographic scale, there was very little change in the number of ponds occupied by frogs during the three-year survey period. However, there was considerable variation from region to region, with frogs occupying under half the ponds surveyed in one region and all of the ponds in another. At sub-regional and local scales, it was found that in some areas the number of ponds occupied by frogs was

declining, while it was increasing in others. The number of adult green frogs remained stable at a geographic scale but was increasing in one region, declining in another and stable in the third. At the sub-regional and local scale, trends in the abundance of frogs were extremely variable. Abundance of frogs was stable at 20 per cent of ponds, increasing at 18 per cent, declining in 14 per cent and showing no consistent trend in the remainder. This study illustrates how the status of a species is highly scale-dependent. Local-scale studies may come to highly misleading conclusions about trends in the distribution and abundance of the green frog if extrapolated to a geographic scale. Variance in both occupancy of ponds and adult numbers increased as the spatial scale of the survey decreased. This study confirmed that the smaller a local population the more likely it is to become extinct. Extinctions occurred only where there were fewer than ten adults in a pond. Frog populations were spatially dynamic, with common extinctions and recolonisations. The implications for conservation biology are clear. First, it is not adequate to assess the status of a species at a restricted spatial scale. It also emphasises the importance of facilitating species dispersal in order to ensure that a local population can re-extablish itself after stochastic extinction. Small, high-quality habitat patches may make an important contribution to increasing species dispersal, even though they may not be able to sustain a local population over a long time period. Conservation needs to understand the spatial dynamics of a species in order to prevent decline at a geographic scale.

MANAGEMENT FOR BIODIVERSITY

Protection of endangered species

It is almost a truism to point out that the best method for maintaining biodiversity is to control the most important causes of decline. These are habitat destruction and fragmentation, primarily as a consequence of the expansion of cultivated and pastoral areas. Habitat degradation also contributes to loss of species. Pollution, the introduction of invasive exotic species and overexploitation of natural ecosystems are some of the most important causes of degradation. Unfortunately, governments have been reluctant to take action, especially where controls would have significant impacts on people’s livelihoods. As a consequence, strategies for biodiversity conservation are frequently limited to attempts to exclude such influences from protected areas and attempts to rescue highly endangered species from extinction.

Ex situ conservation strategies attempt to preserve representatives of highly endangered species outside their native ranges, usually in a zoological or botanical garden. In principle, individuals can then be reintroduced to their natural environment. Controversy continues to rage in the conservation world about the ethics of reintroducing a species to sites where they are known to have existed in the past but have recently gone extinct. This may be desirable where a habitat has been restored to the point where it may, once again, adequately support the species, or where some systemic extinction pressure has been removed. It may be necessary if the species in question has a poor colonising ability and is unlikely to arrive unaided. Some species may have a significant influence on

MAINTAINING BIODIVERSITY ecosystem processes, including the regulation of other species. There may be an argument for reintroductions of these keystone species when it is anticipated that they will have wider conservation value. There is, for example, considerable interest in the reintroduction of the European beaver (Castor fiber) to Br itain (Macdonald et al. 1995). Where beavers dam stream channels they may create habitat for aquatic species that inhabit pools and stagnant water. Reintroductions may also be important where a population of a species has declined to the point where it is no longer considered viable. Bringing in more individuals from a larger population elsewhere may reinforce the recipient population. Although this may often prevent the deleterious effects of inbreeding depression in an isolated population by bringing in new genotypes it may also result in the dilution of important local varieties. Some imported genotypes may be poorly adapted to the local environmental conditions and do little to enhance the viability of the recipient population.There is also a risk of introducing new diseases when infected individuals are used to supplement a local population. One of the most important considerations, however, in any species reintroduction is the biogeography of the resultant population. Many species, particularly where conditions are marginal for population survival, behave as metapopulations. There may be considerable cost but little conservation value in supplementing a local sink population. A good understanding of the spatial dynamics of a regional population may be crucial to ensuring the success of a reintroduction programme (Hodder and Bullock 1997). Zoos and botanical gardens may serve a very important education function that far exceeds their somewhat doubtful value for reintroductions. They provide an opportunity for society to marvel at the diversity and beauty of organisms and can alert the public to the threats of biodiversity loss. In situ conservation measures attempt to halt the decline of species populations within their natural range. Determining the status of a species population is therefore of fundamental

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importance. Lack of reliable information on population levels can often confound conservation efforts. Changes in the abundance of an organism can only be assessed against knowledge of prior levels. Unfortunately, there are ver y few communities or even taxa for which accurate data have been recorded over time. A further problem is that where records have been kept they show that the abundance of many organisms fluctuates naturally from year to year. Long-term trends are difficult to detect against this highly variable background. For example, the abundance of larvae of the larch bud moth (Zeiraphera diniana) was monitored for over thirty years at a site in Switzerland (Baltensweiler 1984). The population density of moths var ied by five orders of magnitude during the period of the study (Figure 15.5). High population variance and strong autocorrelation in population size from year to year makes detection of long-term trends very difficult. Even when long-term patterns are detectable, it is difficult to extrapolate from data collected at a single site to a more ecologically meaningful scale. Populations of a species fluctuate not only in time but also in space. An alternative and perhaps more sensitive approach to monitor ing species populations ignores the size of a population but looks instead at its geographical distribution. Shaffer et al. (1998) have proposed that museums, herbaria and other historic archives offer a valuable source of information on geographical distributions of organisms over time. Historical records of the presence or absence of species at a particular site are often more reliable than data on their abundance.The latter are very dependent on the sampling effort and method used. If records or collections are treated as random samples from the entire range of an organism, then changes over geographically relevant scales can be assessed and population fluctuations at individual locations ignored. In this way, geographical research may reveal more about patterns and changes in biodiversity than detailed ecological studies of population dynamics. Although campaigns to save highly endangered species stimulate considerable popular support, in reality very few have proved successful. They also

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ENVIRONMENTAL CHANGE AND MANAGEMENT Figure 15.5 Densities of larvae of the larch bud moth (Zeiraphera diniana) on larch in Switzerland.

Source: Baltensweiler1984.

risk diverting resources to those species that are least likely to survive in the long term. It would be both less costly and probably more effective if conservation projects sought to protect viable populations of more common species within their native range to prevent them ever reaching endangered status. It should not be assumed that rar ity is synonymous with vulnerability to extinction. Many species are naturally rare, especially at the limits of their range. Rarity is also scale-dependent; local rarity does not always imply that an organism is regionally rare. Selection of protected areas

As attempts to protect endangered species have so frequently proved inadequate, an alternative strategy for biodiversity conservation is one that protects the greatest variety of species and habitats. There are two distinct problems that face conservation in its efforts to select areas for conservation.The first is to ensure that all valuable facets of diversity are protected.This involves some form of biodiversity inventory. The second problem is to make provision for their protection in perpetuity. The most logical way to identify which species and habitats are inadequately protected would be

to draw up species distribution maps and compare these with maps of existing protected areas. This procedure has been termed ‘gap analysis’ (Scott et al. 1993) and is an approach that has been made considerably more tractable by the development of sophisticated geographic information systems. Such an approach makes good sense, because most species are distributed in a strongly non-random pattern. Similar biogeographical histories for many species mean that their distribution patterns coincide. The effectiveness of protected areas in protecting species and habitats can be increased significantly by the selection of diversity hotspots, where the ranges of large numbers of species overlap. Part of the rationale for protecting biodiversity is the belief that it may contribute to future evolutionary potential. Giving pr iority for conservation to areas that encompass the greatest possible species diversity may not be the best way of retaining the greatest capacity for further evolutionary development (Brooks et al. 1992). Areas that contain a diversity of habitats will often contain large numbers of species. However, close juxtaposition of habitats within a restricted area may mean that they are at marginal ecotones and no one habitat may be adequately represented. Areas that have been the focus of evo-lutionary

MAINTAINING BIODIVERSITY development in the past (areas of endemism) may not currently contain the greatest number of species but are likely to be the focus for future species evolution. Gap analysis protocols can now incorporate information not only on species richness but also on which species are well conserved within nonprotected landscapes, on rarity, on restricted range species and on endemism hotspots. A great deal more information is needed on the degree to which the distributions of endangered species, diversity hotspots and centres of endemism may coincide, a job for which geography is ideally suited. How can priority areas for conservation be identified quickly and cheaply? It is a horrifying truth that most species of organism on Earth remain undescribed. This places a very serious constraint on any attempts to map diversity, particularly in the super-diverse regions of the tropics, where rates of habitat loss may be at their highest. The description of the geographical distribution of biological diversity is one of the most pressing conservation problems. Several approaches have been tried in order to overcome this problem. Given that at large scales there would appear to be good correlation between the diversity of different taxa, one method might be to use the diversity of well-known groups, such as birds, as an indicator of all organism diversity. Unfortunately it now seems that such correlations break down at finer geographic scales. Prendergast et al. (1993) identified diversity hotspots for five different taxonomic groups in the UK and found only 34 per cent overlap. An alternative approach is to use the diversity at higher taxonomic levels. Non-experts can easily identify the families of many organisms, and family diversity is very highly correlated with species diversity (Blamford et al. 1996). A third approach is to use abiotic data (Belbin 1993). This may be particularly amenable to geographical analysis given existing detailed maps of environmental variables such as climate, topography and soils. In reality, conservation rarely works in a rational or systematic way. Most nature reserves are declared on the residual land that has been left

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behind by the pastry cutter of development. Historically protected areas have been established on an ad hoc basis, either when an opportunity fortuitously presents itself or when an area perceived to be valuable comes under threat. Integrating conservation and sustainable development

There is a growing belief among conservation professionals that protected area systems alone cannot adequately conserve the world’s biodiversity (WRI/IUCN/UNEP 1992). Attention has refocused on the potential for integrating rather than segregating conservation in land-use planning. As much as 50 per cent of global biodiversity may be located in tropical regions. However, this is part of the globe that contains some of the world’s poorest countries and some of the most rapidly developing. The cost of preserving large areas of wilderness may be prohibitive for countr ies where a large proportion of the population is dependent on subsistence agricultural production and exploitation of natural resources. The greatest costs may be associated with the forgone development potential of the land. Local people are often perceived to be a threat from which nature should be protected. Protected areas are often designed to exclude or even remove local people. For those communities that have traditionally made use of such areas as part of their livelihood systems, the consequences of this exclusion may be devastating and vehemently resented (Plate 15.2). Such communities are faced with the costs of substituting for the goods and services that they would have obtained free from natural ecosystems. Experience has shown that without the consent and active participation of local people, many conservation projects may be severely undermined. Indeed, where that popular consent is lacking there are serious ethical questions as to why and for whom conservation of biodiversity is taking place. Participatory conservation projects that engage local communities have many advantages. They may be

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Box 15.2 Social forestry in the Western Ghats of India The Western Ghats, a 1500 km long mountain range running down the southwestern coast of India, is one of the world’s most important biodiversity hotspots (over 3500 species of plant have been identified) and has extraordinarily high levels of endemism (25–60 per cent of recorded species). Biogeographically, the Western Ghats has long been isolated from the vast Southeast Asian humid forest tract and thus protects a relict pocket of an evolutionary distinct biota. Heterogeneous geology, soils and climate also contribute to promoting high biodiversity. Forests of the regions vary from dry deciduous to wet evergreen types. The forests have very high local use value, particularly for firewood, pasture and as sources of non-timber forest products, including leaf compost. India has a longer tradition of legal protection of nature than any other nation, and legislation has often favoured conservation over other forms of land use. During the 1970s, as India’s population expanded rapidly, the effects of environmental degradation began to be felt. In the Western Ghats, a protected area network (wildlife sanctuaries and national parks) was created. Protected areas managed by the government are often large (a few hundred square kilometres), consisting of a mosaic of landscape elements including forests. They are protected by legal authority, but there are frequent conflicts since they impose land uses that compromise the livelihood requirements of the local populaion. The protection programme was imposed with little community participation, and local concerns were rarely addressed. Despite attempts at a ‘guards and guns’ approach to protection, local people continued to remove firewood and graze cattle within the reserves. It was estimated that nearly 80 per cent of firewood in some areas was taken from reserves. Many protected forests had little or no seedling or sapling regeneration as a consequence of grazing and fire. It was quickly realised that social conditions in the Western Ghats meant that gathering of firewood and grazing cattle could not be prevented. Conservation strategies that ignored the social and economic context were doomed to failure since they would inevitably end in conflict with local communities. Projects were therefore redesigned to integrate biodiversity conservation into a strategy of landscape rehabilitation and sustainable use.

a powerful motor for sustainable development, avoiding many of the pitfalls of conventional development models that lead to environmental degradation. Costs of sustainable use of natural ecosystems may be significantly lower than those associated with their total protection. Species are protected across the whole landscape rather than in restricted reserves. Although there is a growing trend for devolution of responsibility for conservation to local

Part of the reason for intense pressure on protected areas was the severe degradation of communal woodland and grazing areas. A revised conservation strategy aimed to improve the productivity of extensive areas of degraded land in the hope that this would relieve pressure on protected areas. Regrettably, although the objectives of the new social forestry project were sound, the project failed to engage local communities in the design and implementation. Participation can be passive or interactive. In the former, external experts identify the problem and define their solutions. Local people are expected to comply with management decisions that arise from these. In interactive participation, local communities participate in joint analysis of the problems and develop their own action plans. The social forestry project failed because many of the outcomes of the project failed to solve the real problems and indeed even exacerbated some of them. For example, community woodlots were established to provide fuelwood. However, trees were planted by the Forestry Department at a close spacing conventional in a timber plantation. As a consequence, grasses failed to thrive between the trees, and local communities found that their grazing land was even further reduced. Harvesting of woodlots produced large quantities of timber at infrequent intervals, but local people dependent on forests for firewood required regular supplies of small quantities. The Western Ghats Forestry Project began in 1991 and attempted to address some of the earlier limitations. Project planning and implementation was achieved through the establishment of Joint Forestr y Management, a project management system developed elsewhere in India. The core of JFM is the village forest committee in each community, which has a legal right to make joint decisions with the Forestry Department on how management is carried out. This method allowed local people, for the very first time, to participate in the management of forests with the Forestry Department and to have a legal right to share in the benefits of this operation. Sharing of the management and usufruct with the people has important conservation and development implications. Part of the income from forestry operations goes into a village forestry development fund and can be used for community projects.

communities where detailed knowledge of local conditions and appropriate priorities lie, there are many challenges ahead.The benefits of biodiversity conservation accrue mainly at the national or global level. Decentralisation of conservation projects means that the costs are borne locally. Ecosystems vary in the degree to which conservation and local use are compatible.The Gir National Park is home to one of the most important populations of Asiatic lions in India; however, it is likely that the present

MAINTAINING BIODIVERSITY

Plate 15.2 ‘Wild man committing forest offence’. Photograph c. 1920 of an Indian forest officer arresting a man for illegal cutting of timber (Oxford Forestry Institute Collection).

population of lions is too large for the park. They depend on predating the livestock of surrounding villages, and attacks on humans are not infrequent. Over 160,000 people live in and around Gir, and many view it as an important pasture that they have traditional rights to use. It is far from clear how the development aspirations of the local people and conservation of a high profile but endangered species can be reconciled. Although participatory approaches to conservation are always preferable, there are circumstances when it is neither moral nor responsible for the developed world to leave the burden of biodiversity conservation to local communities in developing nations. CONCLUSIONS

Conservation is a land-use management problem that has been the exclusive purview of biology for

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too long. It is improbable that any attempts to maintain biodiversity will be effective without both the spatial and social perspectives that geography is so able to integrate. Biology has singularly failed to address either of these, lacking both the analytical tools and the research experience. Much remains to be done where geographers can take a lead. First and foremost, conservation needs an adequate methodology for the rapid assessment of the functional values of diverse communities of organisms. A biology-based conservation science has been overly preoccupied with species diversity and has ignored the fact that other levels of organismic variation may be of equal or even greater importance. Although there are established methods for monitoring relationships between biodiversity and biogeochemical cycling, hydrology, the atmosphere and vulnerability to natural and man-made hazards, the identification of functional groups of organisms is still underresearched. No adequate classifications exist to assist practical conservation. Geography will undoubtedly play an important role in the development of methods for estimating biodiversity in non-sampled areas. A great deal of research effort is currently underway investigating the potential for the remote sensing of correlates with biodiversity. Metapopulation dynamics offers an attractive theoretical framework within which to analyse the spatial dynamics of species populations. However, there remains a gulf between the theory and its practical application. Conservation needs to develop methods for using the geographical tools of spatial analysis to make empirical studies of spatial dynamics and to assess the consequences of different management options. One particularly important current problem is the prediction of species, responses to human-induced environmental change. Large-scale processes will act over an entire species population. Finally, geographers may bring to conservation an ability to synthesise both ecological and social science perspectives. Conservation biologists have little or no training in the theory or methods of social science research. The lack of training or understanding of practitioners who have had a

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science education can explain much of the naivety of many conservation projects and the slow rate at which methods for participatory conservation have been adopted. Geography, with its spatial and interdisciplinary perspectives, is the conservation discipline of the future.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Maurer, B.A. (1994) Geographical Population Analysis: Tools for the Analysis of Biodiversity. Blackwell Scientific Publications, Oxford. An advanced-level text that discusses the spatial dynamics of species populations and describes the mathematical techniques for their description and analysis. Rosenzweig, M.L. (1995) Species Diversity in Space and Time. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. An excellent analysis of the ecology of species diversity with particular emphasis on the spatial and temporal dynamics of populations. Scott, J., Davis, F., Csuti, B., Noss, R., Butterfield, B., Groves, C., Anderson, H., Caicco, S., D’Erchia, F., Edwards, T., Ulliman, J. and Wright, R. (1993) Gap analysis: a geographic approach to protection of biological diversity. Wildlife Monographs 123, 1– 41. A detailed analysis of a technique for identifying gaps in conservation provision whereby spatially explicit data such as vegetation types and wildlife habitats are superimposed on maps of protected areas. Sutherland,W.J. (ed.) (1998) Conservation science and action. Blackwell Science, Oxford, UK. This book brings together contributions from authors from a wide range of disciplines to create a state-ofthe-art review of conservation biology. Chapters by Kevin Gaston on Biodiversity and William Adams on Conservation and Development are particularly valuable.

REFERENCES Andrewartha, H.G. and Birch, L.C. (1954) The Distribution and Abundance of Animals. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Baltensweiler, W. (1984) The role of environment and reproduction in the population dynamics of the larch budmoth Zieraphera diniana Gn. (Lep.: Torticidiae). in W.Engels, W.H.Clark, A.Fischer, P.J.W.Olive, and F.F.Went (eds) Advances in Invertebrate Reproduction, 3, 291–301. Belbin, L. (1993) Environmental representativeness: regional partitioning and reserve selection. Biological Conservation 66, 223–30. Blamford, A., Green, M.J.B. and Murray, M.G. (1996) Using higher-taxon richness as a surrogate for species richness: I Regional tests. Proceedings of the Royal Society of London, Series B 263, 1267–74. Brooks, D.R., Mayden, R.L. and McLennan, D.A. (1992) Phylogeny and biodiversity: conserving our evolutionary legacy. Trends in Ecology and Evolution 7(2), 55–9. Clinebell, R.R., Phillips, O.L., Gentry, A.H., Starks, N, and Zuuring, H. (1995) Prediction of neotropical tree and liana species richness from soil and climatic data. Biodiversity and Conservation 4, 56–90. Connell, J.H. (1978) Diversity in tropical rain forests and coral reefs. Science 199, 1302–10. Hanski, I. (1996) Metapopulation ecology. In Rhodes, O.E., Chesser, R.K. and Smith, M.H. (eds) Population Dynamics in Ecological Space and Time, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hawthorne, W.D. (1993) Forest regeneration after logging: findings of a study in the Bia South Game Production Reserve, Ghana. ODA Forestry Series No. 3, Overseas Development Administration, London. Hecnar, S.J. and M’Closkey, R.T. (1997) Spatial scale and determination of species status of the green frog. Conservation Biology 11, 670–82. Hodder, K.H. and Bullock, J.M. (1997) Translocations of native species in the UK: implications for biodiversity. Journal of Applied Ecology 34, 547–65. Janzen, D. (1970) Herbivores and the number of tree species in tropical forests. American Naturalist 93, 338–9. MacArthur, R.H. and Wilson, E.O. (1967) The Theory of Island Biogeography. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Macdonald, D.W., Tattersall, F.H., Brown, E.D. and Balharry, D. (1995) Re-introducing the beaver to Britain: nostalgic meddling or restoring biodiversity? Mammal Review, 25, 161–200. Mares, M.A. (1992) Neotropical mammals and the myth of Amazonian biodiversity. Science 255, 976–9. Newbery, D.M., Campbell, E.J.F., Lee, Y.F., Ridsdale, C.E. and Still, M.J. (1992) Primary lowland dipterocarp forest at Danum Valley, Sabah, Malaysia: structure,

MAINTAINING BIODIVERSITY relative abundance and family composition. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society London, Series B 335, 341–56. O’Neill, R.V., Krummel, J.R., Gardner, R.H., Sugihara, G., Jackson, B., DeAngelis, D.L., Milne, B.T.,Turner, M.G., Zygmnuht, B., Christensen, S.W., Dale, V.H. and Graham, R.L. (1988) Indices of landscape pattern. Landscape Ecology 1, 153–62. Phillips, O.L., Hall, P., Gentry,A.H.,Vásquez, R. and Sawyer, S. (1994) Dynamics and species richness of tropical rain forest. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences USA 91, 2805–9. Prendergast, J.R. (1993) Rare species, the coincidence of diversity hotspots and conservation strategies. Nature 365, 335–7. Ricklefs, R.E. (1987) Community diversity: relative roles of local and regional processes. Science 235, 167–71. Ricklefs, R.E. and Schulter, D. (1993) Species diversity: regional and historical influences, in R.E.Ricklefs and D.Schulter (eds) Species Diversity in Ecological Communities, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

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Scott, J., Davis, F., Csuti, B., Noss, R., Butterfield, B., Groves, C., Anderson, H., Caicco, S., D’Erchia, F., Edwards, T., Ulliman, J. and Wright, R. (1993) Gap analysis: a geographic approach to protection of biological diversity. Wildlife Monographs 123, 1–41 Shaffer, H.B., Fisher, R.N. and Davidson, C. (1998) The role of natural history collections in documenting species declines. Trends in Ecology and Evolution 13(1), 27–30. Simberloff, D.S. and Abele, L.G. (1976) Island biogeographic theory and conservation practice. Science 191, 285–6. Terborgh, J. (1986) Keystone plant resources in the tropical forest. In M.E.Soulé Conservation biology: the science of scarcity and diversity, Sinauer Associates, 330–44. WRI/IUCN/UNEP (1992) Global Biodiversity Strategy: Guidelines for Action to Save, Study and Use Earth’s Biotic Wealth Sustainably and Equitably. World Resources Institute,Washington DC,World Conservation Union, Gland, and United Nations Environment Programme, Nairobi.

16 Landscape evaluation Rosemary Burton

INTRODUCTION

The physical landscape consists of two elements, the landfor m landscape and the land-use landscape. The former is made up of land and drainage systems and is a product of the interaction between geology, climate and tectonics expressed through geomorphological processes. The land-use landscape consists of the land surface, which in most climatic zones is dominated by the flora and fauna, and is the product of ecological processes. In a truly ‘natural’ landscape, these processes are unmodified by man. However, throughout the world man is an agent of rather more rapid environmental and landscape change, either directly as a consequence of past and present exploitation of natural resources, or indirectly through man-induced climate change. Therefore it could be argued that there are few if any areas in the world where landscapes are totally free of man’s influence. Indeed, landscape ecologists include man as an integral part of the landscape (Neveh and Leiber man 1989). Landscapes that result from the interaction between people and land are termed ‘cultural’ landscapes. Early geographical interest in landscapes concer ned their analysis rather than their evaluation, and one strand of geographical research has continued to describe, analyse, classify and map landscape character, most recently with the use of geographical information systems (GIS) (Jeurry Blankson and Green 1991; Brabyn 1996).

Such studies aim to be objective and nonevaluative; they provide a database that can inform the implementation of spatial landscape policies but do not contribute directly to the policy debate. However, it is applied research in that it provides tools and techniques of immediate practical use in policy implementation. Landscape evaluation research, on the other hand, is by implication policy-related because it is concerned with the values that different people attach to landscapes. Landscapes can be valued for different things, such as their ecological characteristics, their visual qualities, and their cultural and historical meanings. Evaluation of the ecological aspects of landscape is generally left to expert ecologists, because such judgements are made on criteria such as biodiversity, rarity and complexity rather than on criteria related to visual characteristics, and ecologically based landscape planning on other characteristics of natural systems (Selman 1993).While the separation of the ‘natural’ and ‘cultural’ is to be regretted (Phillips 1998), in practice landscape evaluation research has been concerned more with investigating the visual, aesthetic, cultural and heritage values of landscape.

THE NATURE OF THE PROBLEM

The designation of the world’s first national parks in the nineteenth century (e.g. Yellowstone, USA, in 1872, the Royal in Australia, 1879) indicates that the protection of valued landscapes is not a recent

LANDSCAPE EVALUATION addition to the planning agenda. The process of identifying and designating valued landscapes for protection has continued throughout the twentieth century, but the rapid growth of recreation and tourism in the Western world since the 1960s has increasingly focused attention on landscape as a leisure resource, and on the potential conflicts between landscape protection and its leisure use. Also, processes of globalisation have both spread and accelerated landscape change worldwide, and increased the perceived urgency for action to conserve on a world scale. In response, policy-related landscape research has developed rapidly since 1960. Policy makers and researchers were confronted with three major policy areas that not only presented many practical problems to decision makers but also raised a host of difficult research questions for the academics. These policy areas were:

1 2 3

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The rationale for the designation and management of protected landscapes. The planning and management of recreational and tourist use of landscapes. The regulation of man-induced landscape change.

In the simplest terms, the policy makers and landscape managers needed to know which landscapes were the ‘best’, the ‘most preferred’ or ‘most desired’, so that landscapes could be designated for protection and shielded from undesirable change. Planners perceived a need to select, improve and create landscapes suitable for leisure use, and at the same time to protect landscapes from recreational impacts. In practice, many landscape designations were made and implemented under the existing systems (Box 16.1) before rigorous research on landscape values was available.

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However, this does not invalidate such research: landscape policy is dynamic and designation systems can be changed (Box 16.1). Landscape evaluation research needs to develop a raft of methods that can assist future policy revision. Once designated, the practical problems of managing protected landscapes raise the very issues that landscape evaluation research addresses: managers need to clar ify the pur pose of designation and identify the qualities for which the landscape is valued before effective management prescr iptions can be found. Evaluation research has found a practical application at this later stage in the planning process. Landscape managers are also required to justify the social and economic costs of management. This has led policy makers to perceive a need to express landscape value in monetary terms. The applied researcher’s job is first to translate all these policy needs into researchable questions, and then after the research is complete, to repackage and present the results to the practitioner in a way that is understandable, politically realistic and usable. The simplification that may occur at this stage does not mean that the research itself is any less rigorous than theoretical work, rather the reverse. If important resource allocation decisions are made on the basis of the results, it must be as rigorous as possible. The extent to which policy-related and applied research is actually used in practice is a function not only of the researcher’s presentation skills but also of the policy maker’s perception of the need for research. The next section illustrates the different ways in which researchers have analysed the nature of the problem from different theoretical standpoints, and how they have reduced the issues to researchable questions. Landscape evaluation research into the visual qualities of landscapes

The policy makers question ‘which landscapes are the most beautiful, best or most preferred’ and ‘can they be mapped’, but these questions in themselves are not directly researchable. The use of ‘expert

judgement’ of aesthetic quality was quickly abandoned as a foundation for decision making because of the implied subjectivity and lack of rigour. In its place, researchers concentrated on the more fundamental research questions and methodological problems that had to be resolved before researchers could offer policy makers useful conclusions.These were: 1 2 3 4 5 6

How do people perceive landscapes? Can people’s preferences for different landscapes be measured? if so What quantifiable visual landscape features are associated with the most preferred landscapes? Is it possible to measure preferences for specific elements of the landscape? Is there a consensus of opinion as to which landscapes are the most preferred? if not What factors explain the variation in people’s visual evaluation of landscapes (such as personality, motivation, socio-economic factors and cultural background).

Geographers have adapted and applied theories and techniques drawn from environmental psychology to explore these issues (Zube et al. 1982; Uzzell 1991). The research was generally approached from a positivist standpoint, using quantitative methods. The general assumption of this type of research was that people’s response to the visual characteristics of the landscape could be measured accurately and that landscape preferences reflected aesthetic quality. This type of research originally took the policy makers’ view that landscape beauty was a function of the landscape itself (and was therefore mappable), but the results soon shifted research towards seeking an understanding of the psychological make up, the functional requirements and the cultural context of the viewer of the landscape. Many studies, including cross-cultural studies, suggest a consensus of preference for land with high relative relief and with green (or varied) vegetation. However, cross-cultural quantitative research has shown some cultural differences in preference patterns (e.g. Yu 1995). This indicated that preference (or landscape taste) for some

LANDSCAPE EVALUATION landscapes or combinations of landscape elements are culture-specific, suggesting that perhaps some preferences may be learned or acquired. Landscape evaluation research into the social, cultural and heritage values of landscapes

The outcome of the quantitative research into the visual evaluation of landscape shifted the nature of the research question in a subtle way. Researchers now focused on questions such as ‘why and for what are landscapes valued?’ and ‘who values them?’ Social geographers have been responsible for developing and adapting different techniques to explore these issues. The social, cultural and her itage values of landscape have been investigated using qualitative methods adapted from sociology, anthropology and cultural studies. This type of research has addressed very broad issues, including: 1 2 3 4

What are the social, cultural and heritage values that make a landscape significant to an individual, to a social group and to a nation? What features of the landscape denote these values and meanings? Do different social and cultural groups value landscapes for different things and in different ways? How are these values expressed?

The values of contemporary cultures have been explored using ethnographic methods and the analysis and interpretation of narrative. This includes the analysis of all forms of documentary, wr itten, spoken, visual and other recorded evidence. This type of research is preoccupied not only with the meanings that people and cultures attach to and read into landscapes (Harrison et al. 1986) but also with the importance of these meanings to people’s social and cultural identity. These values are not measurable in the same way as visual preferences. Approaching the issue from a very different standpoint, post-moder n geog raphers are grappling with the issue of how landscapes acquire particular social, cultural or aesthetic values, and

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how these learned values change with time. This is being done through the analysis of art, the media and historic documents, and other historic evidence that provides semiotic or symbolic connections between landscape and perception (Cosgrove 1990). The practical dilemma that policy makers face is that although analysis of literary accounts of landscapes has shown that cultural landscape values have changed fundamentally over time in some cultures, the contemporary population normally shows a strong preference for the status quo and will resist any major landscape change. However, little applied research has yet addressed the issue of contemporary perceptions and evaluations of landscape change, and postmodern geography has not yet got to the stage whereby its theoretical approach can be translated into practice. Nevertheless, research that rests on postmodern approaches to theory does have potential relevance to policy making in that it acknowledges complexity, contradiction and difference. This is essential in a world that increasingly tr ies to accommodate cultural diversity in many areas of social and environmental policy. Landscape evaluation research into the monetary value of landscape

The policy makers’ question, ‘is the landscape worth what it costs to manage it?’ is to them a most urgent and relevant one. It is a completely different policy question to that of the visual, cultural or social value of landscape. To some it is an unresearchable question. Monetary ‘worth’ and non-monetary ‘value’ are two completely different concepts. Nevertheless, environmental economists have applied techniques such as contingent valuation (CVT) to landscape in order to give policy makers a direct answer (Price 1994), but without appearing to analyse the question into its researchable components, and without following other researchers’ methodological efforts of clearly identifying what it is about a landscape that people are ascribing a (monetary) value to.

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Summary of the nature of the problem

It is clear that research cannot give policy makers the clear, unambiguous answers that they seek. It is not the role of research to make value judgements or political decisions on behalf of the policy makers. Landscape evaluation research, however, can provide information about, and interpretations of, the general population’s landscape values that can clarify the nature of the decisions that face policy makers and landscape managers (Sidaway 1990). Research can help practitioners to understand the political nature and practical implications of the decisions they do make.

CASE STUDIES

Evidence of how research has influenced policy is difficult to obtain by those outside the planning and management process. The case studies presented here are not necessarily ‘best practice’ in research terms, but they do illustrate the ways in which research appears to have influenced management at site level, and policy at strategic level. Photo preference studies have frequently been used to aid practical site management. At Cannock Chase it was an integ ral par t of the site management plan (Box 16.2). More recently, Karjalainen (1996) has used a similar methodology to investigate stakeholders’ preferences for landscapes produced by different forms of forest management in Finland. The emphasis was on measuring respondents’ preferences for the visual characteristics of the vegetation patterns produced by different methods of clear felling. Evidence of the practical application of this example is less direct, but it once again shows the potential for this type of research to feed into forest management at both site and forest level. Landscape evaluation research has also had some effect on strategic policy making. The evolution of ethnographic and phenomenological research into the social and cultural values and meanings of landscapes has the capacity to

influence management policies. It would appear that the work of Harrison et al. (1986) had an impact on the review of UK national countryside recreation policy in the 1980s, while at a regional level, Kirby (1993) highlights impending management problems. She demonstrates a divergence in values between residents and the strategic management authority for the South West New Zealand (Waahipounami) World Heritage Area (Plate 16.2). This divergence presents critical management choices, particularly in the way that the area is interpreted to visitors. More fundamentally, it points to the need for changes in the management style and structures. Researchers from this school have also informed and perhaps led the world debate on the criteria for designating cultural landscapes. The redrafted cultural criteria for world heritage properties was finally produced in 1992 (see Box 16.1). This change led directly to the Tongariro National Park in New Zealand being designated as the first associative cultural landscape under the new guidelines.The park itself was established in 1887, when the Maori donated the three sacred mountain peaks to the Crown for conservation purposes. To date, the government has prioritised the management of the natural qualities and the recreational use of the area. However, the newly affirmed recognition of Tongariro as an associative cultural landscape provides the government with the opportunity to take greater account of the spiritual meaning of the place in its practical management strategies. The World Heritage Committee insisted that the National Park Management Plan and related processes should reflect and involve Maori concerns more than they have in the past (Department of Conservation 1990). But it still remains to be seen whether and how the spiritual values of Tongariro impact on its management (Kirby 1997). Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park in Australia may be perceived by non-aboriginals as a unique natural feature, and Ayers Rock is indeed an icon of Australia. It was listed as a world heritage natural site in 1986. However, the evolving world debate on the social and cultural values of land-

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Box 16.2 Cannock Chase Country Park, Staffordshire, England The preparation of the Cannock Chase Country Park management plan was an exercise in applied research (Rodgers et al. 1982). A landscape preference study was used to clarify some critical management choices. The park is intensively used for recreation, but much of it is also designated as a site of special scientific interest (SSSI), showing ecological characteristics transitional between upland and lowland heath with fragments of ancient oak woodland and mire communities. It is a

cultural landscape in that the open heathland is a result of woodland clearance, sheep grazing and other forms of land use over the last few hundred years (see Plate 16.1). However, these practices had ceased by the 1940s, and the landscape has measurably changed since then, with birch, hawthorn scrub and seedlings from adjacent coniferous plantations invading the heathland. Controlling this vegetational change would be very expensive as grazing was thought not to be a practical option. Plate 16.1 Cannock Chase Country Park.

The research team assumed that the open heath was the most valued landscape for recreation, but evidence of user preferences was needed before an expensive management regime was recommended. A photo preference study was therefore undertaken to measure user preferences for different types of vegetation as recreation environments (Burton 1982). The study was designed as rigorously as possible to ensure that users were responding to the different vegetation types and not to any other aspect of the picture of the landscape.

scapes led to a very significant change in its status ten years later (Phillips 1998). The realisation that the surrounding landscape was a product of a continuing regime of traditional (aboriginal) fire management, and the formal acknowledgement of the spir itual significance of Uluru to the Aborigines (Layton and Titchen 1995) led to the rescheduling of the site on the world heritage list as an associative cultural landscape (Plate 16.3). The implications of this change for tourism management are potentially profound. Uluru is one of Australia’s most important international tourist attractions and is seen as an awesome natural feature that tourists wish to climb. The traditional owners (Aborigines) see it as a place of

Unexpectedly, the results indicated that users very strongly preferred the ancient woodland; only a minority ranked the open heathland vegetation as the most preferred. The research teams’ response was to put far more research effort into investigating why the ancient woodland was not regenerating and on proposals for the management of its recreational use, while in the final plan the heathland management proposals were justified on ecological grounds rather than on their landscape value.

immense spiritual power that they do not climb. Again, it remains to be seen how or whether the reclassification of the park will be reflected in its management planning. Whatever the objectives of landscape management, justifying the costs of management is an ever-present strategic policy issue. CVT has been applied to landscape in order to measure the monetary ‘worth’ of landscapes (Box 16.3). In the UK, the technique has been used in a project in the Yorkshire Dales National Park. The extent to which the Yorkshire Dales research, and its extension to the Norfolk Broads (Bateman et al. 1994), has influenced UK strategic policy is not clear, as the results in fact appear to

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ENVIRONMENTAL CHANGE AND MANAGEMENT Plate 16.2 Landscapes of the south west New Zealand World Heritage area, South Island, New Zealand.

Plate 16.3 Kata Tjuta in Uluru National Park, Northern Territory, Australia.

justify the status quo. The importance of this particular research may not concern its immediate impact on short-term financial decisions. It may have more to do with attitudes to the management of landscape change. If people do prefer the status quo, and in this case if the monetary value of the existing landscape justifies current expenditure, perhaps research attention will be directed to analysing the process by which preferences evolve, how current expenditure does effect landscape

change and how people become accustomed to the changing landscape in which they live.

CONCLUSIONS

Visual and functional values of landscape can be demonstrated using environmental psychology methods; such research can be of practical use to guide designation policies, to set

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Box 16.3 Yorkshire Dales National Park, UK The upland limestone country of the Yorkshire Dales National Park (UK) is in IUCN terms a category 5 protected cultural landscape (see Plate 16.4). Its field pattern was established during the 1760–1820 enclosures. The landscape depends on traditional sheep rearing, which is now under threat. Research (O’Riordan et al. 1992) was designed to assess user and resident preferences for pictures representing eight different versions of the Dales landscape that could be created in response to different types of change in the farming and land management systems. A parallel study by Willis and Garrod (1993) attempted to assess the monetary value put on these future landscapes. The authors did not seek separate assessments of the ecological, social or heritage values but attempted to obtain one overall assessment that took all these attributes into account. About half of the respondents chose landscapes depicting the existing situation as the scene they liked best. Most of the others chose the ‘conserved’ or ‘planned’ landscapes, options that were visually most

similar to today’s landscape. The willingness to pay for today’s landscape was around £24 for all respondents, but the minority who preferred ‘conserved’, ‘sporting’ or ‘wild’ landscapes valued them far more highly (at around £34). Residents valued landscapes consistently lower than visitors, this discrepancy being particularly marked for the ‘abandoned’ landscape. The results show that although the overwhelming consensus is to preserve the status quo, there are some important differences in preferences and values among minority groups, who might be important players in the pragmatic process of landscape management. However, the study uses the data in a different way. The results are aggregated to demonstrate that today’s’ landscape generates total ‘benefits’ four times higher than the cost of maintaining it. In contrast, the costs of the ‘conserved’, ‘planned’ and ‘sporting’ landscapes are far higher than the benefits they generate. The conclusions thus support the status quo. Plate 16.4 Agricultural landscapes of the Yorkshire Dales.

management objectives and to pr ior itise resource allocation. However, cultural geographers would warn that this approach may only be valid if all the stakeholders are drawn from one homogeneous cultural group and therefore are likely to share common cultural values. Social geography research highlights the role of landscape in the expression of cultural identity: in a multicultural state the issue of whose landscape is valued most highly is intensely political.

Techniques that seek to assign monetary values to landscape must also be entirely culture-specific, and strictly limited to Western capitalist cultures. Even in Western cultures, the assumptions on which the technique is based need to be far more closely analysed before being built into any policy-making process, not least the assumption that people are capable of assigning money values to environmental goods in a rational manner. The clarification of which aspect of landscape is being valued (aesthetic, ecological, cultural, functional, etc.) is also crucial,

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as the practical management prescriptions in each case can be so radically different. Ethnographic methods have a critical role in the exploration of landscapes’ cultural and heritage values. This type of research has tended to replace the concept of ‘landscape’ by that of ‘place’. This may reaffirm moves towards more integrated approaches to management that acknowledge links between social, economic, cultural, aesthetic and ecological planning. The analysis of the way in which people respond to landscape change may be the biggest research challenge in the future. Processes of climate change may necessitate profound changes in land management practices, even in traditional cultures: in tandem with the effects of globalisation, this may accelerate landscape change in many parts of the world. Longitudinal descriptive surveys have recorded and monitored landscape change, particularly that generated by changes in the agricultural and forestry economies. Very considerable methodological problems face researchers attempting to investigate people’s perception and evaluation of contemporary landscape change. This is a crucial area for developing research, as the management of the speed of landscape change (not its direction) may in the end be the most important issue facing practitioners, rather than the maintenance of any particular aesthetic quality or cultural characteristic.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Uzzell (1991) and Zube et al. (1982) provide excellent overviews of the range of environmental psychology approaches, and both provide extensive references to further case studies. Cosgrove (1990) offers a similar analysis of the social geographer’s approach, while Price (1994) gives a comprehensive review of the economic evaluation techniques with a very full bibliography. Sidaway (1990) debates some policy applications of landscape research in the UK context, while Burgess (1996) comments on recent trends in landscape research.

Up-to-date reports of research developments are most readily accessed in the journal Landscape Research, while Landscape Planning and Landscape and Urban Planning frequently publish applied research. Related issues such as landscape mapping can be followed up in Landscape Research Vol. 19 No. 3, 1994, and landscape ecology in Selman (1993).

REFERENCES Bateman, I., Willis, K. and Garrod, G. (1994) Consistency between contingent valuation estimates. A comparison of two studies of UK national parks. Regional Studies 28, 457–74. Brabyn, L. (1996) Landscape classification using GIS and national digital databases. Landscape Research 21(3), 277–87. Burgess, J. (1996) The future for landscape research. Landscape Research 21(1), 5–12. Burton, R.C.J. (1982) Visitor-public preferences for vegetation types. Technical Report No 7. Cannock Chase Country Park Plan, Countryside Commission. Cosgrove, D. (1990) Landscape studies in geography and cognate fields of the humanities and social science. Landscape Research 15(3), 1–6. Department of Conservation (1990) Tongariro National Park Management Plan Vol. 1 Objectives and Policies. Turangi, New Zealand. Department of Conservation. Droste, B., Plachter, H. and Rossler, M. (1995) Cultural Landscapes of Universal Value. New York: Gustav Fischer Verlag. Harrison, C., Limb, M. and Burgess, J. (1986) Recreation 2000: views of the country from the city. Landscape Research 11(2), 19–24. Jeurry Blankson, E. and Green, B. (1991) Use of landscape classification as an essential prerequisite to landscape evaluation. Landscape and Urban Planning 21, 149–62. Karjalainen, E. (1996) Scenic preferences concerning clear fell areas in Finland. Landscape Research 21(2), 159–73. Kirby,V.G. (1993) Landscape, heritage and identity. Stories from the West Coast. In C.M.Hall and S. McArthur (eds) Heritage Management in New Zealand and Australia. Auckland: OUP, 119–29. Kirby, V.G. (1997) Heritage in Place. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis. University of Canterbury, Christchurch, New Zealand. Layton, R. and Titchen, S. (1995) Uluru: an outstanding Australian Aboriginal cultural landscape. In van Droste, B., Plachter, H. and Rossler, M. (eds) Cultural Landscapes

LANDSCAPE EVALUATION of Universal Value, New York: Gustav Fischer Verlag, 174–81. Neveh, Z. and Leiberman, A. (1989) Landscape Ecology: Theory and Application. New York: Springer Verlag. O’Riordan, T., Wood, C. and Shadrake, A. (1992) Interpreting Landscape Futures in the Yorkshire Dales National Park. Yorkshire Dales National Park, Grassington. Phillips, A. (1998) The nature of cultural landscapes— a nature conservation perspective. Landscape Research 23(1), 21–38. Price, C. (1994) Appendix: Literature review. Landscape Research 19(1), 38–55. Rodgers, H.B., Burton, R.C.J. and Shimwell, D.W. (1982) Cannock Chase: the Preparation of a Country Park Management Plan. CCP 154, Countryside Commission, Cheltenham.

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Selman, P. (1993) Landscape ecology and countryside planning: vision, theory and practice. Journal of Rural Studies 9(1), 1–21. Sidaway, R. (1990) Contemporary attitudes to landscape and implications for policy: a research agenda. Landscape Research 15(2), 2–6. Uzzell, D.L. (1991) Environmental psychological perspectives on landscape. Landscape Research 16(1), 3–10. Willis, K.G. and Garrod, G.D. (1993) Valuing landscape: a contingent valuation approach. Journal of Environmental Management 37, 1–22. Yu, K. (1995) Cultural variations in landscape preference: comparisons among Chinese sub-groups and Western design experts. Landscape and Urban Planning 32, 107–26. Zube, E.H., Sell, J.L. and Taylor, J.G. (1982) Landscape perception: research, application and theory. Landscape Planning 9, 1–33.

17 Environmental impact assessment John Blunden

INTRODUCTION—THE BASICS OF THE ASSESSMENT PROCESS

The process of environmental impact assessment (EIA) was introduced for the first time in the United States in 1969 under the National Environmental Policy Act for all major federal activities. Since then, there has been an everwidening acceptance, particularly by the industrialised nations of the world, of the view that environmental effects likely to be caused by a proposed development are material considerations within any planning decision-making process.The influence of the US federal measures led to the rapid incorporation of EIA into state and local statutes across that country and then by the government of Canada in 1973. Many other developed countries followed including, Australia at commonwealth level (1974), Japan (1984) and New Zealand (1991). Although a number of its member countries, such as France and Ireland, had embraced EIAs as early as 1976, followed by the Netherlands (1981), the Council of Environmental Ministers of the European Communities did not adopt a Directive on EIAs for certain types of development until 1985.Their implementation became mandatory in 1988 (Montz and Dixon 1993; Sanchez 1993; Geraghty 1996). As for developing countries, while many of the 121 sovereign states that might be so categorised had, by the 1990s, at least considered EIA legislation, only nineteen had put in place the necessar y administrative, institutional and procedural frameworks for the implementation of

EIA systems, only six of which were successfully operational (Ebisemiju 1993). Sometimes there is a single well-defined catalyst for action in the decision to adopt EIA, as was the situation in Austria in the mid-1980s when Hainburg, the proposed site of a hydroelectric power plant on the Danube, became a symbol of environmental and citizens’ activism (Davy 1995). Elsewhere, the process has been more incremental, especially where member states of a federation are concerned. This was certainly the case in Australia (Wood 1993). But always the concept of EIA has evolved in response to real needs, and wherever it is used it is in real-world situations. It is not an intellectual exercise practised by academics, nor is EIA designed to provide a passive record of environmental change. Its sole objective is that of making available environmental information on which informed decision making may take place in relation to projects both public and private (Beattie 1995). EIA has had a number of definitions in the last three decades, many of which are founded on the objectives and exper ience of their authors, whether they be institutions, government agencies or individual researchers conducting an examination of the practice of EIA, and whether they be located in the developed or developing countries (Sankoh 1996). However, the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) in 1992 accepted a simple definition of EIA from an authoritative source (Clark et al. 1980) that has widespread currency (Table 17.1).The UNDP has also usefully summarised what it sees as the

ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSMENT common key activities involved in the preparation of EIAs, along with the techniques used in the presentation of the assessment (see Table 17.1). However, the determination in 1985 of the European Commission (EC), that EIAs should become the practice in all member countries, led, in the preamble to Directive 85/337, to it both accepting and embellishing the 1980 definition. It did so by affirming that the EIA process involves a systematic approach that embraces both a structured methodology and a formal set of procedures, adding that the investigation that constitutes the EIA implies the preparation of a report—an environmental impact statement (EIS) —which in itself ‘provides the basis for consultation, participation and decision making’ (Wood et al. 1991).The systemic nature of the EIA process, wherever it is applied, ideally involves both the developer and the relevant planning authority in an iterative process where it is the feedback loops that will help to minimise impacts, improve attempts to mitigate environmental damage and assist in general project design (Figure

Table 17.1 Environmental Impact assessment.

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17.1). Ultimately, such an approach must also affect the quality of decision making that follows a full consideration of the EIS, a document for which the developer bears the full responsibility.

EIA—PROBLEMS OF APPLICATION AND INTERPRETATION Subverting the EIA process

Having stressed the procedural strength of EIA in the provision of a clear-cut method of evaluation, the initial acceptance of the need for EIA, as well as its eventual application, can have political dimensions, sometimes amounting to the subversion of its intent. When the suggestion was made that the EU should embrace EIAs, some member states did not view the prospect with much enthusiasm. France, particularly, feared both national and transnational problems if EIAs were applied to the large number of nuclear power plants it was planning to build, many of which

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Figure 17.1 EIA as a systemic process.

Source: Allen 1996.

were to be located at the periphery of the state. At the same time, the UK took the view that EIA was an unnecessary and burdensome addition to its sophisticated land-use planning system, which had evolved effectively since the passing of the Town and Country Planning Act in 1947. It therefore took several years and more than twenty internal drafts before the proposal to the EC was formulated in 1985. Even then, it had to be pushed onto the agenda at a per iod of high unemployment throughout the Community on the back of the promise that environmental protection might hold out in terms of the creation of new jobs. Once the desire to have an EIA programme has been accepted, the politicisation of its realisation can also become apparent. While it is clear that ‘the scope, timing and content of EIAs everywhere in the world are invariably influenced largely by a variety of administrative and legislative measures’ (Sankoh 1996), it is also evident that some countries can take matters very much further in their apparent subversion of the process. Here it may be said that if no checks are in place, ‘EIA is open to capture by powerful government interests’ (Horberry 1984). In Nigeria, for example, the guidelines on its fourth National Development Plan (1981–1985) contained a directive that ‘feasibility studies for all projects both private and

gover nment shall be accompanied by an environmental impact statement’. Whether this was a general expression of government concern about the need to prevent environmental degradation, or intended to assuage aid agencies, or to pay lip ser vice to inter national environmental conventions, it was certainly not backed by anything resembling an EIA system. Not surprisingly, ten years after the plan was published the government had to admit that environmental issues ‘had been neglected or not given enough attention…in actions designed to increase the productivity of the society and to meet essential needs’ (FEPA 1989). In general, however, EIA can expose developing countries such as Nigeria to public scrutiny and debate, a largely unwelcome procedure for dictatorships no matter how interested such countries may be in environmental protection either notionally or in practice. Moreover, the EIA process is also open to subversion by powerful government interests where even evidence of ecological damage can be manipulated.As Ebisemiju (1993) has commented, ‘unscientific and unprofessional practices thrive best in socio-political systems in which corruption and dictatorship are hallmarks’. These criticisms are less likely to be valid, however, among industrialised countries of long standing, where

ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSMENT public scrutiny and a much more open decisionmaking process is in evidence. Nevertheless, examples can be found of attempts to subvert the EIA process. For the EU, the enactment of its Directive has allowed member states a considerable degree of latitude in the way in which the systematic approach of the EIA is allowed to work out in practice in each member country in the name of subsidiarity.The government of the UK, because of its ideological objection to EIA, therefore allowed four major national infrastructural developments— the Twyford Down extension of the M3, the M11 link road, the East London River Crossing and the Channel Tunnel Rail Link —to provoke direct and unprecedented political confrontation with the EC in Brussels. All had infringed Directive 85/337, since preparatory work had been carried out on these but none had been subject to a formal EIA. When steps were taken by way of enforcement procedure to prevent further work on these projects, the EC was ignored by the British government. Unfortunately, from an environmental point of view, this head-on collision between government and Commission came at a time when the rejection of the Maastricht Treaty by the Danes (2 June 1992) meant that the EU needed the support of the UK government. By the end of the same month, in order to achieve this support, all proceedings relating to these projects were dropped, with the Commission using the flimsiest of pretexts to justify its volte-face. It is perhaps unfortunate that these changes of mind were possible ‘without giving full explanations to complainants or to Parliament and that in the absence of the possibility of judicial review neither complainants nor Court can challenge the reasoning’ (Kunzlik 1995). Performance variables

Institutional and procedural arrangements—the developing world

In terms of the operationalisation of the EIA process, an overwhelming majority of the small number of developing countries with EIA systems

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have used the US federal model, whereby specific laws are enacted to make EIA mandatory and a clear system of procedures for environmental assessment laid down, albeit modified to suit local conditions. While this may well reflect a government’s desire to enforce consideration of environmental issues in the decision-making process, the efficiency of the institutional ar rangements that this implies have been questioned (Sankoh 1996; Ibaara 1987; Szelely 1987) and the suggestion made that these work only where the responsible environmental agency is placed within the office of president, prime minister or some other high-profile ministry such as those dedicated to national economic planning and budgetary control. Unfortunately, most agencies in developing countries are subsidiary functions of one ministry or another and thus have low status in the bureaucracy, and lack funding, trained staff and the status necessary to enforce compliance with environmental laws and regulations. In such a general situation of functional decentralisation, these problems are particularly manifest in the inability of the environment agency to muster the right degree of interorganisational coordination and cooperation between the many sectoral agencies and tiers of government that have some responsibility for one or another aspects of the environment. Without this, it is especially difficult for the EIA-to achieve its pr imar y objective of incor porating environmental considerations into project planning, design and implementation through the disclosure of environmental effects and public scrutiny (Ebisemiju 1993). However, as if to compound the chances of not achieving such a goal, in most developing countries the EIA is conducted as a separate exercise divorced from the technical and economic aspects of project planning and design, often appearing as an afterthought. This implies that there is little prospect of consider ing alternatives, with the EIA being used as a perfunctory endorsement of public or private actions rather than to influence decisions. Thus, although Thailand and the Philippines have been cited as having the most elaborate EIA systems in

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the developing world, their EISs have been descr ibed as ‘nothing but a collection of unsynthesised biophysical data irrelevant to the choice among real alternatives’ (Roque 1985). In spite of a considerable number of EIAs submitted to environmental agencies in Southeast Asia, few are able to have much impact in reducing the environmental consequences of the projects concerned. Brazil, Malaysia and Mexico, however, do have systems that integrate the EIA into the project cycle. Apart from the advice that proponents of a scheme receive regarding the integration of the economic, technical and environmental elements of their project, it is mandatory for them to show that any conditions attached to the review report are complied with and that measures to be taken to alleviate or prevent the adverse impact on the environment are being incorporated into the design, construction and operation of the prescribed activity. In Mexico, the EIS must be approved before a project’s final design is produced, while Brazil effectively internalises EIA in the project cycle by incorporating it into its long-standing three-stage project-licensing system. There are also built-in mechanisms for continuous monitor ing of every stage of project implementation for compliance with recommendations contained in previous licences. However, as far as the developing world is concer ned, these three countries are quite exceptional in terms of the way their EIAs function. Institutional and procedural arrangements—the developed world

Compared with the developing world, the implementation of the EIA process by the developed countries is generally of a higher standard. This is hardly surprising, given their advanced state of economic development, their political stability and the substantial period of time in which they have had the opportunity to embrace the original US federal initiative and to experience its operation. However, there are exceptions. For example, the Canadian federal

recognition of EIA in 1973 led to the provision by government of a structure for its own system that was seen to be flawed because it allowed the initiators the responsibility to screen and to assess their own project environmentally (Cooper 1990). Moreover, the original legalisation did not provide for an enforcement mechanism. It also failed to clarify, among other things, the types of project that must be assessed, the content of an acceptable environmental assessment, and the nature of the role of the public in the process (FEARO 1987). Although the Canadian Environmental Assessment Act of 1995 was supposed to remedy such deficiencies, it continues to support selfassessment and apparently does little to clarify with precision what procedures should be followed in the EIA process. This is especially unfortunate since the federal approach fails to provide a yardstick against which the provinces, each with their very different approaches to EIA, might start to move towards common national standards (Delicaet 1995). Perhaps more unexpected, however, are the results of a survey that considered NEPA’s effectiveness after nearly three decades of its application to US federal projects. This drew attention to problems related to EIA practice rather than process, commenting not merely on the fact that the consideration of EIA in project planning and decision making was not early enough but also on the lack of post-EIS followup in monitoring, in the implementation of mitigating measures, in ecosystem management and in environmental auditing. The survey also remarked upon an insufficient consideration of both biophysical and socio-economic factors in an integrated mode in the EIA process. Although it is possible to allow that these issues, according to the survey’s authors, particularly represent common concerns in the worldwide practice of EIA (Canter and Clark 1997), it is nevertheless unfortunate that they remain flaws in the US federal system so long after the establishment of NEPA. A lack of political will during the last two decades undoubtedly explains such inertia. While such failings do remain a recurring phenomena and can, indeed, be recognised in

ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSMENT countries of the developed world, there are nevertheless examples of best procedures and practices. Indeed, many of the states of the Commonwealth of Australia show an impressive record of the successful development of EIA since its adoption. In summarising the present position in Western Australia, where much has been done as a result of its new Environmental Protection Act of 1986, it has been suggested that in its ‘numerous public participation and appeal provisions, the referral system, the various types of EIA report and recommendations and the strong links to action monitoring, together with the annual report on the EIA system, it provides a model worthy of wide-spread imitation’ (Wood and Bailey 1994). In Victoria, the first of the individual states to enact the relevant legislation, in 1978, the effectiveness of the system has, indeed, evolved over the years so that it has now become highly pro-active at all stages in the EIA process, culminating in the general use of inquiry panels and consultative committees. Moreover, it has succeeded in getting proponents and decision makers to consider environmental effects earlier

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in their planning stage. Its one remaining weakness is the lack of mandatory monitoring in the project cycle (Wood 1993).

CASE STUDIES

The three case studies that follow are designed to illuminate what has so far been outlined in the preceding narrative section, which has largely concentrated on the nature of the structures in place for EIA. Here the concern is much more with illustrating the practical difficulties that can arise in the execution of EIAs, which in turn can deeply affect the outcomes of the process. As suggested on page 250 and as Box 17.1 affirms, what Brazil eventually put in place bears all the hallmarks of a system that, for the developing world, is well above the norm in terms of its apparent capacity to mediate the conflicting interests that are apparent in any project that has environmental implications. Apart from the fundamental exogenous problem that the pervading ethos in Brazil is for economic development to take priority over environmental

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considerations, there are other reasons why EIA fails to fulfil its promise. The principal problem is one of data inputs regarding the ecology of Brazil. Frequently it is not available, and where it does exist it is often out of date. Moreover, what information of value there is tends to be scattered across so many

institutions that its acquisition within the timescales available for the completion of an EIA is impossible. Where public participation is concerned, the territory is familiar enough in so far as it is a problem that pervades systems around the world. Here, while its existence is not in doubt, it fails to

Box 17.2 EIA—Differences in attitude and practice: Norway and Estonia compared ESTONIA

NORWAY

As early as 1978, the USSR Council of Ministers decided that all large projects must undergo expert review in terms of their impact on the environment. After the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, Estonia was able to choose its own environmental strategies and decided to introduce instruments developed in the West, including EIA. Compared with most other post-Soviet states, Estonia made careful preparations before the formal introduction of EIA. The enabling laws were established in 1992, but it was in 1994 that the key player in the EIA adoption process, the Ministry of the Environment, produced an order that dealt with the procedural matters of EIA and gave practical advice on EIA repor t preparation. Since it is an aspiration of Estonia to join the EU, it is its intention to bring Estonian EIA practice into line with the EU Directives on the subject.

The basis for EIA in Norway when formally introduced in 1990 was the Planning and Building Act. This has long served as a means of land-use planning and the granting of building permits. Preparation for EIA, however, began in the late 1970s, but the process became protracted as a result of debates over the distribution of competencies to supervise the needs of EIA among the ministries. In order to achieve a level of integration between EIA and project planning, the responsibilities for EIA were ultimately located in the development ministries rather than in the Ministry of the Environment, whose role remains a strategic one. Because of the entry of Norway into the European Economic Area in 1994, Norway harmonised its EIA system with the EU in 1995. The chief differences between the two countries in their approach to EIA are summarised below. They may be said to broadly reflect the situation in other Nordic states as against those of the ex-Communist Baltic states, which also include Latvia and Lithuania.

ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSMENT permeate all aspects of the EIA process, with the public having difficulty in making known those concerns that they believe the EIA should address. However, while it is not obligatory for EIAs to be defended publicly, it is possible for citizens to petition for it. Finally, although the idea of an interdisciplinary approach to EIAs is mandated by the legislation, there has been a notable reluctance on the part of natural scientists and social scientists to work together, something that training programmes for those who service EIAs has as yet failed to address (Fowler and Dias de Aguiar 1993). The lack of an interdisciplinary approach to the realisation of EIAs is the main theme in the next case study, but here the discussion is put into a comparative context to illustrate the problems that the countries of Eastern Europe, because of their Communist heritage, have in bringing their practice into line with their Western European neighbours. Estonia represents one of the more advanced of the ex-Communist countries now seeking to conform with the EU approach to EIA as a prelude to joining the Union in the near future. Norway has moved in the same direction but is motivated by its membership of the European Economic Area. Both had two decades of experience of involvement with attempts to reconcile economic development with environmental concerns, and although they are each moving towards a common approach, their separate socio-economic histories mean that notable differences still remain. In this respect, it is Estonia’s socialist heritage that plays an important role, as it does in other Eastern European countries. There, engineers still remain the backbone of the educated classes. Political development—in which the citizenr y are encouraged to take part in decision-making processes and in the public debate—remain new features of life, as does the development of the social or the human sciences. Thus any problem is reduced to that in which solutions are largely technical ones. This permeates thinking in the sphere of environmental protection in a way that is perhaps stronger than in many other spheres,

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because it is an area where technicians, engineers and natural scientists feel most at home. But the contrast here with Norway is particularly strong because of its multi-disciplinary approach to such matters. As the tabular comparison in the case study shows, herein lie perhaps the major differences in the approach to EIA in the two countries. As for the EU approach to EIA (Box 17.3), the decision taken to provide a basic system and to remit the implementation of its component parts to the individual member states under the banner of subsidiarity has, in retrospect, left much to be desired. Indeed, the Commission itself has recognised that its implementation had been very uneven with, at worst, some examples of the flagrant disregard of its intent. Spain, for example, blatantly reduced many attempts to profile the impact of a project on the environment merely to an account of that project’s economic benefits (Pardo 1998). It is not sur pr ising, therefore, that the Commission should have sought, in due course, to review the process as set out in its original Directive in order to bring it into line with best practice worldwide. But this was made more compelling by the new imperative of sustainable development that followed from the Rio Earth Summit in 1992. What has been achieved as a result of the review, however, has not been without considerable compromise, necessitated by attempts to seek common ground among the member states, some of which, not least the UK, have been largely hostile to its intentions. Thus, while the key changes described in Box 17.3 do offer very positive improvements, the Amendment Directive of 1997 falls short of what might be recognised from the previous section as what was really needed. An important failure has been the inability of the Commission to insist on formal scoping, together with post-project monitoring and enhanced public participation. These should be common to any system put in place by advanced economies such as those of the EU as part of a desire to produce EIAs that offer something to the quest for sustainable development.

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Box 17.3 The EU and EIA initiatives Five years after the mandatory implementation of EC Directive 85/337, the EC saw fit to undertake its review. This highlighted a number of problems and difficulties experienced by member states, which led to the EIA Amendment Directive 97/11/EC due to be applied by all member states from March 1999. The key changes wrought by this Directive are as follows: 1 Project screening This has been carried out according to two schedules. Annex I is a project list that covers all those types of development for which an EIA is mandatory. Annex II, however, is a list of development types that may require an EIA, and here the review had highlighted disparities in the ways in which member states had implemented it. Some had used thresholds and/or criteria (set at high or low levels), others had used a case-by-case approach, while some, such as the UK, used a combination of both, where thresholds/criteria were indicative only. The EC, therefore, introduced a set of selection criteria that member states must take into account when deciding how they determine which Annex II projects shall be subject to EIA. But to ensure that the most damaging projects are always subject to an EIA, a number of categories have been moved to Annex I. 2 Scoping While the Commission wanted the process to be a formal one that would entail consultation with the

CONCLUSION—SELECTED AREAS OF EIA RESEARCH

Given the problems that are sometimes evident in the EIA process, such as a lack of trained staff to undertake the relevant procedures, an inferior biophysical/socio-economic database and a less than adequate public participation, it is clear that ‘expert systems’ can offer considerable potential in terms of their resolution. Expert systems attempt to simulate the means by which a human expert tackles a real-world problem using a set of rules, heuristics and inferences programmed into a computer system. Indeed, as a problem solving device an expert system interprets information and reasons towards a conclusion obtaining the same results that the human expert would arrive at if presented with a comparable task. The component parts of the expert system and the means by which the knowledge base is amassed, then addressed and driven through the reasoning process (the neural network) to provide the

competent authority, at the insistence of the UK and Germany, it still remains open to the developer to make a decision on this. Formal scoping in public, is, though, suggested as best practice. 3 Project information provided by the developer It is now a requirement that an outline of alternative sites for the development is provided, together with reasons for the final choice taking into account the environmental effects’. 4 Consultation On the completion of an EIS the environmental authorities must now be consulted regarding its content, while details of the request for consent and information gathered during the EIA should be made available to the public and time given for them to respond. 5 Transboundary effects It is now mandatory that information from an EIA be made available to another member state if it is likely to be affected by a proposed project. 6 Decision making The competent authority making the decision about a project must provide the main reasons for it, together with an account of the considerations on which the decision is based. Source: Sheate 1997.

relevant outcomes to the user have been described elsewhere in terms of their applications to the field of geographical research (Blunden et al. 1998). Suffice it to say here that this approach has been applied to EIA in a handful of pioneering experiments in North America and Europe, where they have been used to help environmental groups at public inquiries and non-experts to critique EISs that have already been prepared (Geraghty 1993). Expert systems in the EIA context can be adapted to varying EIA assessment regimes and planning systems and have the advantage that their knowledge store is easily updated or revised as circumstances or techniques change. They also have potential in conjunction with geographical information systems and, through interface with ecological or environmental models, to produce highly sophisticated graphics. However, the use of expert systems to provide a more flexible and readily available source of expertise in this rapidly growing field is wide open to further research

ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT ASSESSMENT investigation, and applied geographers with a broad knowledge base across the environmental and the social sciences are well placed to contribute to its development. Another area of concern for those wishing to support the effective use of the EIA in the planning decision-making process, one that is frequently in question worldwide, is that of public participation. For this to be worthwhile in terms of providing confident support for the legitimacy of the final outcome, local knowledge, both lay and expert, will need to have been examined. As part of this undertaking, affected parties will need to have explained their own views in a discourse with others of differing opinions and thus will have had an equal chance of influencing the conclusions ultimately reached. Ideally, a resolution will have been achieved to which all parties can give their support. However, in spite of the importance of this area of concern, research on the best way to achieve such ends seems less than adequate. While it may not seem the obvious topic for the applied geographer, this author has managed to demonstrate how participation can be handled effectively in the interests of achieving an environmental conservation policy, with which a wide range of actors with considerable diversity of lifestyles and interests could agree and ultimately accept as fair and reasonable. In this case, the need was to gain general acceptance for a policy for the Broadlands of East Anglia (Blunden 1985). Others have pursued similar work in connection with the siting of a waste disposal facility in the canton of Aargau in Switzerland (Webler et al. 1995), but both exercises have identified common characteristics of what can be described as social learning processes for those involved.These include face-to-face small groups meeting and working regularly over several months; opportunities for all participants to explain and justify their perceived needs; creating an atmosphere that encourages participants to discuss, criticise or challenge statements made by other group members; providing access to expert witnesses; and being able to undertake field visits. But this is not to say that more does not need to be done. These examples can only be early contr ibutions to the development of more

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definitive models of effective participation processes.

FURTHER READING

Two major texts, not otherwise referred to in this chapter, are important for those wishing to read more deeply about EIA. Environmental Impact Assessment —Theory and Practice, (Routledge, London, 1988) edited by P.Wathern remains the original definitive work on EIA and, although reprinted in 1998, it has not been updated. After his introductory essay, the editor divides the book into sections with contributions from a range of authors on the mechanics of EIA; the efficiency of EIA; the practice of EIA around the world; and EIA as both art and science. A rather more up-to-date and, as the title suggests, forwarding-looking text Environmental Impact Assessment: Cutting Edge for the Twenty-First Century (Cambridge University Press, 1995), comes from A.Gilpin. This has rather more the style of a handbook about it, dealing, as it does, with procedures and methodologies for carrying out EIA. It also contains sections on practice and legislation in most continents, apart from Africa, as well as reviewing EIA practice by international agencies. But unlike this chapter, it extends its coverage to deal with strategic environmental assessment (SEA), i.e. the interrelationship between the environmental aspect of projects, programmes and plans, usually within a regional context. In addition to these books, three journals provide an invaluable source of material on contemporary work in the field. Environmental Impact Assessment Review is preeminent, but the Journal of Environmental Management and European Environmental Law Review have occasional articles of considerable interest. REFERENCES Allen, R. (1996) What is Environmental Impact Assessment? Rural Wales autumn, 8–9. Beattie, R.B. (1995) Everything you already knew about EIA (but don’t often admit). Environmental Impact Assessment Review 15(2), 109–14.

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Blunden, J.R. (1985) Conflict management in rural resource planning. In Problems of Constancy and Change—the complementarity of systems approaches to complexity, 31st Annual Meeting of the Inter national Society for General Systems Research, Budapest. Blunden, J.R., Pryce, W.T.R. and Drever, P. (1997) Classification of rural areas in the European context: an exploration of a typology using neural network applications. Regional Studies 31, 3. Canter, L. and Clark, R. (1997) NEPA effectiveness— a survey of academics. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 17(2), 313–27. Clark, B., Bisset, R. and Wathern, P. (1980) Environmental Impact Assessment: A Bibliography with Abstracts. London: Mansell. Cooper, K. (1990) Environmentalists reject federal environmental assessment bill. Intervenor 15(6), 1–44. Davy, B. (1995) The Australian Environmental Impact Assessment Act. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 15(4), 361–75. Delicaet, A. (1995) The New Canadian Assessment Act: a comparison with the environmental assessment review process. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 15(6), 497–505. Ebisemiju, F.S. (1993) Environmental impact assessment: making it work in developing countries. Journal of Environmental Management 38, 247–73. EC Directive 85/337 The Assessment of the Effects of Certain Public and Private Projects on the Environment, Brussels. Federal Environmental Assessment Review Office (1987) Reforming Federal Environmental Assessment. Ottawa, Ontario, Ministry of Supply and Services, Canada. Federal Environmental Protection Agency (1989) National Policy on the Environment, Lagos. Fowler, G.G. and Dias de Aguiar, A.M. (1993) Environmental impact in Brazil, Environmental Impact Assessment Review 13(3), 169–76. Geraghty, P.J. (1993) Environmental assessment and the application of expert systems: an overview. Journal of Environmental Management 39, 27–38. Geraghty, P.J. (1996) Environmental impact assessment in Ireland following the adoption of the European Directive. Environmental Impact Assessment Review, 16(3), 189–211. Horberry, J. (1984) Status and Application of Environmental Impact Assessment for Development, Gland, IUCN.

Holm-Hansen, J. (1997) Environmental impact assessment in Estonia and Norway. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 17(6), 449–63. Ibaara, A.B. (1987) Reflections on the incorporation of an environmental dimension into the institutional framework and operation of the public sector in Latin America and the Caribbean. In Conference on the Environment 55–76, Washington DC, Inter-American Development Bank. Kunzlik, P. (1995) EIA: the British cases. Environmental Law Review December, 336–44. Montz, B.E. and Dixon, J.E. (1993) From law to practice: EIA in New Zealand. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 13(2), 89–105. Pardo, M. (1998) Environmental impact assessment: myth or reality? Lessons from Spain. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 17(2), 123–41. Roque, R. (1985) Environmental impact assessment in the Association of South-east Asian Nations. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 5(3), 257–64. Sanchez, L.E. (1993) Environmental impact assessment in France. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 13(4), 255–65. Sankoh, O.A. (1996) Making environmental impact assessment convincible to developing countries. Journal of Environmental Management 42, 185–9. Sheate,W.R. (1997) The Environmental Impact Assessment Directive 97/11/EC—A small step forward? European Environmental Law Review August/September, 235–43. Szelely, F. (1987) Strategies to strengthen environmental quality in the IDB development project cycle. In Conference on the Environment 77–102,Washington DC, Inter-American Bank. Webler, T., Kastenholz, H. and Renn, O. (1995) Public participation in impact assessment: a social learning perspective. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 15(5), 443–63. Wood, C.M. (1993) Environmental impact assessment in Victoria: Australian discretion rules EA! Journal of Environmental Management 39(4), 281–95. Wood, C.M., Lee, N. and Jones, C.E. (1991) Environmental statements in the UK: the initial experience. Project Appraisal 6, 187–94. Wood, C. and Bailey, J. (1994) Predominance and independence in environmental impact assessment: the Western Australian model. Environmental Impact Assessment Review 14(1), 37–59.

18 Countryside recreation management Guy Robinson

The impacts of recreation and tour ism, memorably termed the ‘fourth wave’ (Dower 1965:123), have transformed many rural areas in recent decades, in some cases becoming predominant within the economy and contributing significantly to social change. The demand for rural land to be used for recreational pur poses has added to pressures upon the countryside to fulfil multiple roles, thereby adding to the complexity of rural planning and land management. In their research on countryside recreation management, geographers have analysed the outcomes of existing management plans as well as contributing in both theoretical and practical for m to the ongoing debate regarding the nature and use of the countryside. This chapter will outline some of the main avenues of geog raphical enquiry into the management of countryside recreation, with special reference to formulation of management plans, issues relating to access, and the relationship between recreational provision and social change.

RURAL RECREATION AND TOURISM

Two basic types of recreation are usually recognised: 1

Formal This takes place on managed sites and is often associated with profit-seeking organisations. Management may involve provision of special areas, zoning or rationing demand by entrance charges, a membership fee or imposing maximum numbers;

2

Informal. The countryside provides a backdrop to a range of activities, including recreational driving, walking and general sightseeing.

Various general characteristics within society in the latter half of the twentieth century have produced increased opportunities for both types of leisure activity, notably greater affluence, increased personal mobility, and reduced and/or more flexible working arrangements. The growth in private ownership of cars and improvements in transport links between urban and rural areas have helped to direct a substantial proportion of this leisure towards the countryside, with urban residents attracted by the aesthetic qualities of the setting. This has produced both greater participation in traditional non-consuming rural pursuits (e.g. walking, nature study, sightseeing) and new activities that may utilise a specific rural resource (e.g. mountain biking, windsurfing) (Butler 1998). Many of the latter owe their increased popularity to a combination of greater affluence, ease of accessibility of rural areas to urban residents and technological developments that have been applied to sporting/leisure activity (Mieczkowski 1990). Some activities have also been relocated to the countr yside to take advantage of cheaper greenfield sites, the pleasant surroundings and ease of access from multiple urban centres, e.g. golf courses, theme parks. Another factor promoting increased rural recreation has been growing public concern for the environment and ‘green’ issues, promoting activities such as bird watching and nature study in general. The growth of rural-based ecotourism is part of

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this trend. A wider appreciation of the attractions of rural locales can be seen in the growth of ruralbased second-home ownership (Cherry 1993), hobby farming (Gasson 1988), vacation renting of properties in the countryside, e.g. the French gites system (Campagne et al. 1990), and urban-rural migration in general (Champion 1989). Concern for fitness and health among the more affluent in society has encouraged some of the more ‘active’ leisure pursuits, e.g. horse riding, downhill skiing, water skiing. Moreover, greater scope for recreational pursuits has been brought about by processes of rural restructuring, which have released land and buildings from agricultural use or encouraged farmers to diversify their enterprises. The latter has promoted numerous leisure activities, with farming activities themselves becoming tourist attractions (Bramwell 1994; Opper man 1996), e.g. winer ies (Hall and Macionis 1998), children’s farms, pick-your-own schemes, nature trails, horse riding and farm-based accommodation (Benjamin 1994; Evans and Ilbery 1992). This has contributed to the public’s changing perception of rural areas: from regarding them as predominantly fulfilling a primary production pur pose to areas combining production and recreation within attractive settings. Thus there is no longer a single type of rural space but rather a multiplicity of overlapping social spaces, including recreational space (Mormont 1987; 1990). Different forms of recreation may often be concentrated in the same locality, creating a wellrecognised set of problems for countryside managers: traffic congestion, pressure on available services, environmental damage. Furthermore, it is common for conflicting demands to be placed upon rural space by the various leisure pursuits; for example, contrast the different needs of ramblers seeking quiet relaxation while walking, horse riders, mountain-bike riders, hang gliders, powerboat enthusiasts, or ienteers and bird watchers. Sometimes, provision of facilities for one activity may incidentally promote increased development of other pursuits, as in the case of chairlifts for skiers being used by walkers in the summer months (Sidaway 1993).

MANAGING RECREATION IN THE COUNTRYSIDE

The conflicting demands of the various forms of recreation provide a complex set of management issues, especially when added to the need to reconcile recreational demands with those of competing land uses, notably conservation and maintenance of landscape quality. Two critical characteristics of countryside recreation with respect to its management are the fragmented and diverse nature of both demand and supply, and the dynamic and variable claims made on its resource base (Sharpley and Sharpley 1997:113). These features complicate the process of management and planning (summarised in Table 18.1) and contribute to the general lack of development policies for rural recreation/tourism (Jenkins et al. 1998). Indeed, there has been a surprising absence of positive planning for the provision and integration of recreation and tourism within broader policies for rural development. Most planning has been a response to pressures and demands and has often dealt with containment instead of positive promotion. This has tended to mean a neglect of wider economic and social implications. Pigram (1993), for example, refers to a ‘policy implementation gap’ between the recognition of potential benefits from tourism and recreation and their practical incorporation into rural development plans. Indeed, some plans see rural recreation/tourism as a challenge or threat to the established modes of productive resource use and to maintenance of the character of rural society (Sharpley 1994). Various ‘solutions’ have been proposed with respect to the need for more effective management of rural resources for recreational purposes, with geographers making a significant contribution to the debate. For example, Glyptis (1991) advocates a fourfold approach in order to combine the use of the countryside for recreational and conservation purposes: 1

production of comprehensive resource appraisals to identify sites and key areas of significance for conservation or recreation;

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Table 18.1 The rural tourism planning and management process.

Source: Sharpley and Sharpley 1997, p. 116.

2 3 4

evaluation of demand, including allowance for minority groups and minority activities; formation of partnerships between interest groups wishing to share the same resources (in order to avoid polarisation of interests); development of an understanding of public interests and facilitation of access to resources to a wide section of the public through provision and dissemination of information (see Box 18.1).

Increasingly, it is being acknowledged that there is an interdependence between recreational use of rural areas and the physical and socio-cultural attributes of those areas (Dernoi 1991; Kariel and Kariel 1982). The attributes represent a resource base for tourism and recreation, but maintenance of the attributes is supported by the presence of recreationists.Therefore management has to strike a balance between satisfying the needs of recreationists and those of local rural communities, and preserving the inherent qualities of the rural environment (Butler 1991). Attaining this balance

is often rendered more difficult by the fragmented nature of management, with various different ‘managers’ having responsibilities for different aspects of recreation in the countryside. Farmers, landowners, gamekeepers, conservationists, planners, sporting administrators, community organisations, local authorities, site owners and commercial interests all play a part in managing rural recreation. Hence, the formulation and operation of systematic plans can be extremely complex. However, it is this complexity that has attracted the attention of geographers, who have contributed both to studies of existing plans and plan formulation. RESEARCH BY GEOGRAPHERS ON RURAL RECREATION

A multiplicity of problems associated with the management of rural recreation has attracted geographers’ attention, forming the basis for a growing volume of research since the 1960s, when

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concerted attention was first directed towards this topic (Coppock and Duffield 1975; Simmons 1975). Geographers played an important part in assessing the character istics of sites/ areas supplying recreation and in initial attempts to measure demand for recreation (Lavery 1971;Wall 1972), with more sophisticated methods being developed over time (Rodgers 1993; Veal 1987:125–56), including assessments of the monetary cost of recreation (Bateman 1995). The pioneering Clawson method placed a cost on the visit to a recreational site and explained levels of use in terms of that cost (Clawson 1981). This involved examining the origins of and distances travelled by visitors to a site and calculating an assumed cost for that trip. However,

such estimates are prone to error, and it may not be travel costs that are regarded by recreationists as the most important ones (Field and Macgregor 1987:179–80). Related work on recreational carrying capacities was also pioneered in the 1970s (Brotherton 1973). Subsequently, analysis has moved on to a deeper consideration of provision and access. For example, Har r ison (1991) examined the way in which the interests of landowners, private property rights and efforts by planners to provide controlled access to key sites have combined to reinforce the attraction of ‘honeypot’ sites to the general public. Empir ical studies have provided an understanding of patter ns of activity and consequent demands on land and water resources,

COUNTRYSIDE RECREATION MANAGEMENT and established a baseline for future work, across a continuum from description to explanation to prediction to policy formulation (Owens 1984; Smith 1983).This can be compared with Morgan’s (1991) fivefold classification of survey, analysis, plan, monitor ing and review. A continuing emphasis on demand and site surveys has revealed that the pursuit of recreational activities in the countryside is highly concentrated: spatially, temporally, and by activity, mode of transport, class, age and family type (Gilg 1996:221–2). Concern for the environmental effects of recreation upon ‘fragile’ areas such as national parks or wilderness has been manifest more recently (e.g. Mieczkowski 1995). There are numerous studies reporting substantial environmental damage at ‘honeypot’ sites in national parks and sites that attract large numbers of visitors, such as Stonehenge or Ayers Rock. However, the growing numbers of rural tourists and recreationists are spreading human impacts to areas previously spared such depredations, and creating new management problems (Bromley 1994). Until recently, little of this environmental concern was directed at the wider, more densely settled countryside, although government and academics have now shown greater awareness of the broader scale of such impacts (e.g. Countryside Commission 1991; 1994; 1995; Croall 1995). There are conflicting views, though, of the sever ity of impacts of recreation upon the environment. For example, studies monitoring the impact of recreational use upon the countryside in the 1970s and 1980s contributed to growing official views that impacts were far less damaging than had been widely believed (Sidaway 1990). Furthermore, comparisons with other land uses revealed much recreational activity to be more desirable, for example when compared with the spread of improved pasture, afforestation and urban sprawl. However, clashes between ‘active’ and ‘passive’ forms of recreation have been widely recognised as problematic for managers. From the early 1980s, economic and environmental foci have been accompanied by work on cultural and social impacts in

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destination areas (e.g. Bouquet and Winter 1987). Valuable work on the perceptions and views of users of the countryside has also been perfor med by geog rapher s, generally recognising differences in the characteristics of users of different sites. For example, work by Cloke and Park (1982) revealed clear behavioural differences between people using two contrasting sites. An open moorland site (but accessible by road) attracted people who wanted to roam and ‘to do their own thing’. In contrast, a formal country park site attracted those who preferred the security of an evidently ‘managed’ environment. This division cut across social class, and it also revealed the way in which management can influence recreational behaviour. For example, restrictions on car access and judicious use of signposts have been shown to promote activities associated with walking and enjoying rural peace and quiet (e.g. Countryside Commission 1976). Another focus of recent research has been on the development of possible policies for tourism in rural areas (e.g. Luloff et al. 1994) and of policy implications (e.g. Clarke 1993). Some of this work has linked tourism to the sustainable development of the countryside (Lane 1994; Priestley et al. 1996). For example, research on the impacts of mass tour ism and growing recreational demands in Alpine Europe prompted the emergence of suggestions for different types of management, using concepts such as alternative, responsible, soft, appropriate or green tourism (Hunter and Green 1995; Smith and Eadington 1992).These are now part of planning for sustainable development ‘to balance demand and capacity so that conflicts are minimised and the countryside is used to its full potential without deterioration of the resource base’ (Pigram 1983:171). The management issue that this work raises is how to encourage tourism and recreation development that can not only help to maintain the rural economy but also preserve the environment that attracts the tourists. This issue can be compared with the three overriding goals of management of rural recreation that are generally recognised (Gilg 1998):

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ensuring rational development of resources on a sustainable basis, providing equitable development between different activities and groups within society; reconciling consumption and production.

The remainder of this chapter considers examples of how geographers have contributed to the analysis of key issues in the management of rural recreation. Three issues are singled out for special attention: access and land zoning, commodification of the countr yside and management via advertising, and reconciling competing land uses within national parks.

CASE STUDIES

Access to land for recreational use

Harrison’s (1991) analysis of the UK’s town and country planning system and the national parks system concluded that by the late 1960s it had failed both to protect the countryside from destructive forces and to provide sufficient access to meet the demands of recreationists. Recognition of these deficiencies then led policy makers to three principal policy responses (Curry 1985): 1 2

3

to improve site access, as best illustrated in the country parks, 40 per cent of which are in the urban fringe; to provide small amounts of targeted funding to ease conflicts between conservation and recreation, e.g. upg rading footpaths, improving signage; to continue to restrict wider access.

The last point reinforces the fact that the growing demand for rural recreation has not been matched in most developed countries by a similar increase in the supply of publicly accessible lands or routeways within the countryside (Millward 1993). Indeed, some loss of access has occurred through urbanisation, forestry development and the spread of modern farming methods. The question of the rights of the general public to have access to rural

land for recreational pursuits continues to be a contentious issue in many countries, but especially in England and Wales (Countryside Commission 1988), where ‘legal systems give enormous weight to private property rights in contrast to the very limited access they give to individuals’ (Gilg 1996:191). At the opposite extreme is Sweden, where there is legal right of access to all land, whether publicly or privately owned, and Norway, where the same situation applies subject to certain conditions laid down in legislation. In many countries, legal restrictions have placed significant constraints on access to rivers for fishing, and to land for field sports as well as casual rambling. These constraints can apply even in national parks (Watkins 1996) and despite the existence of statutory provisions (Curry 1994). Growing demands for access have provoked unfavourable reactions from landowners as well as litigation and legislative responses. As a result, ease of access for the general public in certain areas has been reduced (Groome and Tarrant 1985). Related to this trend have been changing attitudes to some traditional rural pursuits, notably hunting. Both with hunting in North America using guns and fox hunting in Britain using hounds, protests by animal r ights groups and changing public sentiments have closed off certain lands to hunters or imposed legal restraints. Elsewhere, sheer pressure of numbers of recreationists is causing attempts by landowners to restrict or control access to their land. However, although much has been written about the problems of restricted access in individual countries, there has been only limited work on comparative studies (Jenkins and Prin 1998). In England, certain groups have gained preferential access to the countryside via both public and private provision of resources. In the private sector, the controls exerted by landowners have meant that rights of access have frequently been granted to small specialist groups, e.g. shooting rights, fishermen purchasing special licences. Harrison (1991) foresees a bigger role for public sector provision of recreational facilities but acknowledges the difficulty in constructing a publicly acceptable policy

COUNTRYSIDE RECREATION MANAGEMENT combining conservation and recreation. In addressing this issue of policy formation, Curry (1994) advocates a higher priority for recreation planning, although he recognises five areas of difficulty in attaining this higher priority, with accompanying solutions, as shown in Table 18.2 (see also Curry 1996). In practical terms, among the most frequently used management tools for regulating access to land for recreational pur poses has been employment of some form of land zoning and systems for concentrating activities in selected areas and corridors (Groome 1993; Table 18.3). This concentration, often through explicit use of ‘honeypots’, has been seen as a key method for

protecting ‘fragile’ environments or the wider countryside. Even in areas specifically designated for recreational purposes, such as the UK’s country parks or Ontario’s recreation parks (Killan 1993), zoning has usually been employed in order to restrict recreational use in part of the park (Box 18.2). In some cases, zoning may be enforced via charging for access or use of facilities (Broom 1991; Table 18.4). A pricing mechanism can fulfil four roles (McCallum and Adams 1980): 1 2

raising revenue; allocating demand between recreation and non-recreation expenditure;

Table 18.2 Problems and solutions for recreation planning in the UK.

Source: Based on Curry 1994; Gilg 1996, p.238.

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Table 18.3 Access mechanisms and ideology.

Source: Groome 1993, p. 159.

3 4

allocating demand between alter native recreation facilities; achieving certain objectives within the provision of countryside recreation. This can include differential pricing to divert users from one facility to another, resource protection and variable pricing to smooth random patterns of use.

Various combinations of these roles have been applied widely in North America, usually in conjunction with additional financial support from general taxes, specific bond issues or taxes and grant-in-aid (Robinson 1990:262–5).

Rural recreation and commodification of the countryside

Harrison (1991) argues that the demands for wider access to the countryside by the urban populace have been largely ignored because of the ‘drawbridge’ mentality of new rural residents. These are the so-called service class or middleclass urbanites who have mig rated to the countryside seeking a romanticised rural idyll, which must not be disturbed by urban-based recreationists (Cloke and Thrift 1987).The service class has developed certain attributes of taste that have been influential and widely adopted by other consumers of rural spaces, e.g. a reverence for the

pastoral idyll, an acceptance of certain cultural symbols such as old houses, antiques, health foods and real ale, and an enjoyment of outdoor pursuits such as jogging, cycling, fly-fishing, windsurfing and mountaineering (Urry 1988:41). These traits of the service class are part of a ‘decentring’ of identity in which people lead more eclectic lives, unshackled by the legacy of tradition or collective expectation, responding freely to the marketplace. This eclecticism, a characteristic of post-modernist society, has developed new forms of leisure consumption, often associated with the ‘spectacle’ of theme parks, medieval ‘fayres’, pop festivals and ‘living’ museums, and coexisting with more traditional forms of rural leisure (Getz 1991; Janiskee and Drews 1998; Urry 1991). A crucial aspect of the new leisure consumption is the attachment of commercial value to items previously largely ignored by recreationists or not offered for sale by entrepreneurs, a process termed ‘commodification’ (Hopkins 1998; see Box 18.3). There has been increased commodification of the countryside, giving rise to a series of new markets for countryside commodities, including the crafting, packaging and marketing of ‘pay-asyou-enter’ national parks and theme parks (see Plate 18.1), craft and food outlets and ‘leisure exper ience’ activities. Increasingly, via deregulation and pr ivatisation, leisure commodities are being sold by the private sector

COUNTRYSIDE RECREATION MANAGEMENT Box 18.2 The recreation opportunities spectrum Zoning has frequently been implemented following a formal assessment of a potential recreational site. Indeed, site assessment has been a particularly popular avenue of research in North America, for example using the recreation opportunities spectrum (ROS) to combine the requirements of visitors with the constraints and characteristics of a site (Figure 18.1). The spectrum, employed to allocate uses in a designated area via a zoning system, ranges across the various combinations of physical, biological, social and managerial conditions. It recognises that each situation offers a range of opportunities for recreation, but with visitor numbers likely to increase as wilderness gives way to some form of development. This development and visitor influx then has to be managed, usually by placing restrictions on visitors’ movements (van Oosterzee 1984). The ROS can help to identify the diversity of opportunities, but it does have limitations, especially as it plays down the importance of biophysical features, which are the natural attractions that are often the main draw for visitors (Hammitt and Cole 1987).

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rather than the public sector. Thus Cloke (1993:58) contends that ‘the informal and free forms of outdoor recreation in the countryside are gradually being replaced for many by a more formal, attraction-based, day out in which the countryside experience is packaged and paid for.’ He quotes the example of Powergen’s Rheidol hydro-electric scheme in Dyfed, Wales, promoted as a ‘great day out’ and offering (for the price of admission): • • • • • •

a visit to Rheidol Power Station Information Centre with its exhibition, video room, souvenir shop and refreshments; a tour of the power station and its fascinating fish farm; a picnic at the lakeside picnic area; a drive around the scenic upland reservoirs; fishing for trout in one of the lakes; enjoyment of a romantic view of the floodlit Felin Newydd weir.

This is one example of the growing importance of the marketing of rural recreation as a form of countryside management, with the repeated use of key icons or symbols in the advertising brochures: endeavouring to attract custom by using words such as landscape, nature, history, family orientation, craft and country ‘fayre’ (Cloke 1992; 1993; Cloke and Goodwin 1992). This is the effective means by which commercial recreation/ tourist enterprises are attracting the urban population to spend time (and money) in the countryside. Its advance has been furthered by the process of farm diversification, stimulated by falling incomes from traditional farming activities, as farmers offer paying tourists the chance to spend time on farms, lured by attractions such as a working farm, themed park experience, waterfowl centres, rare breeds, farm museums, country sports, woodland parks, butterfly farms and shire horse centres (see Plate 18.2). Marketing has increasingly become a management tool, by selling the ‘right’ areas and sites to visitors. This involves increasing the provision of infor mation made available to recreationists while targeting certain types of information at particular people. Analysis of this

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Table 18.4 Potential income streams from recreational facilities.

Source: Based on Groome 1993, pp. 140–1.

Box 18.3 Multi-authority collaboration in the Dartmoor Area Tourism Initiative (DATI) The DATI strategy in the Dartmoor National Park incorporates the following (Greenwood, 1994): 1 increased emphasis upon marketing and information provision to attract visitors to key sites and activities; 2 expanded use of public transport; 3 focus on farm diversification to provide more farmbased accommodation and farm-based recreation; 4 developed more ‘green’ tourism via visitor information and education, and a programme directed at local businesses and communities;

5 improved public relations, especially by informing local communities of the park’s aims and plans; 6 improved advisory and information role; 7 adopted an interpretation strategy both within and outside the park to help to disperse visitors from certain honeypots and to encourage visits to certain attractions and participation in certain activities; 8 alleviated erosion and damage to key sites by providing alternative routes and initiating restoration; 9 increased monitoring activities.

Plate 18.1 An example of a ‘packaged, themed experience’ at Shantytown, near Greymouth, New Zealand, where a nineteenth century goldrush community has been re-created.

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Plate 18.2 The shire horse centre near Plymouth, Devon, where farmland has been converted to a themed visitor-pays attraction.

development has enabled geographers to apply ideas formulated within social theory to concrete examples of recreational marketing (Hall 1992; Ur r y 1995). The outcome is a growing understanding of the multiple roles that the countr yside fulfils and of the increasing importance for entrepreneurs of their ability to package and sell a rural image to recreationists. Managing recreation in national parks in England and Wales

In many countries, one of the principal foci of recreational and tourist pursuits in rural areas is the national parks system. For example, over 100 million visitor-days are spent each year in the national parks in England and Wales, contributing up to £900 million annually to local economies. A key factor in management practice has been whether national parks are essentially wilderness areas, as in North America (Blacksell 1993) and most developing countries, or contain human settlements and landscapes incor porating commercial agriculture and forestry, as in many European examples. In the UK, it has been harder to develop coherent management strategies in the muchvisited national parks than in countries where

parks systems have been managed by the public sector for a long time and using common policies and guidelines (Butler 1998:225). In national parks in England and Wales, the landscape is the product of long-term human impact and management. It needs continuation of careful management to maintain heather moorland, sheep and deer grazing, grouse shooting and a diversity of recreational activities. A summary of the typical conflicts and interactions faced by managers of the land is shown in Figure 18.2. However, this management is widely shared: by far mers, gamekeepers, landowners and their agents and tenants, as well as parks and local authorities. This division complicates many key management issues, as demonstrated in Statham’s (1993) analysis of the North York Moors National Park. Here the national park authority can use planning Acts to control building development, but this does not apply to control of most agricultural and forestry land. Hence farmers have converted moorland to improved pasture (the area under heather moor has fallen by one-quarter since the park was designated in 1952) and the Forestry Commission has put large areas under conifers. National parks usually encompass the jurisdiction of several local authorities, so that multi-authority collaboration, as in the Dartmoor Area Tourism Initiative

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Figure 18.2 Competing land uses in North Yorkshire Moors National Park.

Source: Based on Statham 1993.

(DATI), has been one way forward (Greenwood 1994; see Box 18.2). One of the prime management strategies in ensuring the provision of attractive, ‘unspoilt’ countryside for recreation has been to pay landowners compensation for maintaining designated environmental features (Swales 1994). Management agreements have been used to influence tree planting, heather management, maintenance of stone walls and barns, and the conservation of important wildlife habitats. They have been operated by national parks authorities but also widely adopted elsewhere, as in the case of the UK’s system of sites of special scientific interest (SSSIs), or for managing the countryside in an environmentally friendly fashion, e.g. the EU’s environmentally sensitive areas (ESAs) scheme (Robinson 1994) and the countryside stewardship scheme in England and Wales (Morris and Potter 1995). Geographers have contributed both to monitoring the effects of these policies and to policy decisions on the designation of areas for conservation, notably in the ESAs (Whitby 1994). Mather’s (1993) work on farmers with SSSIs on their land revealed that the designation had not

affected use and management of land on twothirds of the farms surveyed, and that only onefifth of farmers had actually been restricted in their farming activities by the presence of an SSSI. Nevertheless, other surveys show that damage to SSSIs continues, with 10 per cent at serious risk and with the Nature Conservancy Council in England and Wales spending 15 per cent of its 1991 budget on management agreements (Splash and Simpson 1994). Compulsory purchase of threatened sites or use of payments as nature conservation gain under the Town and Country Planning Acts may be more effective (Boucher and Whatmore 1993). National parks authorities have compulsory powers to require public access to land in the parks, but over large areas access is often difficult, especially on privately owned farmland. The solution adopted in the North York Moors has been investment in promotion and management of routes g iving a var iety of recreational experiences in different park landscapes. A national trail, the Cleveland Way, is being complemented by a network of ‘regional’ and local routes. The nature of these landscapes is being modified by management agreements and direct purchase of land by the park authority.The example shown in Figure 18.3 demonstrates how former moorland, now converted largely to enclosed arable land, is being developed into broadleaved parkland landscape open for public access, and combined with areas of heath or common land. Conflicts between different types of recreation are still prevalent, though, despite zoning of areas for noisier pursuits. Erosion by motor-bike scrambling is a particular problem.

CONCLUSION

Management of tourism and recreation in rural areas has frequently been regarded as a mechanism for minimising visitor pressure while maximising economic benefit to r ural communities. Much research effort has been directed at different aspects of this management issue, from how to assess demand to how to

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Figure 18.3 New landscapes, Murton Grange, North Yorkshire Moors National Park.

Source: Based on Statham 1993.

control access and to the multifaceted problem of reconciling different recreational uses of the same area of land. As in many other areas of human activity, an additional element within this research in recent years has been the issue of whether recreation and tourism in rural areas can be managed in a sustainable f ashion. The dimension of sustainability seems destined to feature very prominently in applied research on management issues in future and may redress its previous neglect in government policies relating to tourism and recreation. It may also offer new ways of reconciling competing economic, social and cultural objectives in rural areas (Murdoch 1993). However, for this to occur there will need to be much more work on how sustainability can be measured in a practical fashion in particular situations and on how the various conflicts between different uses are to be resolved at a local level.

One of the key problems facing researchers on rural issues in general is the diversity of roles that the countryside fulfils in modern society.The days when rurality in the developed world could simply be equated with primary production have disappeared as ‘rural’ has taken on a more complex meaning. While agriculture and forestry still dominate rural land use, recreational, tourist, sporting, militar y, conservation and other commercial interests have assumed a far greater importance. In particular, the public’s increased pursuit of leisure activities in rural areas has given it a voice on rural issues that has often conflicted with that of long-term agricultural interests. Yet an overriding problem is that the public hold ambivalent, ambiguous and contradictory views of what role they wish the countryside to fulfil and how they wish it to be managed with respect to recreational provision (McNaghten 1995). This makes it extremely hard to plan for multiple use,

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although Gilg (1996:239) argues that planning is still ill-informed about the public’s attitudes and motivations for visiting the countryside. He urges that more research be pursued in this area to overcome the fact that provision for recreation frequently meets the needs of the providers rather than being what people really want. Dur ing the last three decades, work by geographers on the management of rural recreation and tourism has grown from a trickle to form a highly varied and substantial literature. The varied nature of the research contribution has mirrored the diverse nature of rural recreation itself. Nevertheless, themes highlighted in this chapter, notably relating to access, demand, marketing and conflicts with conservation interests, are likely to continue as significant elements in the research agenda. The changing nature of rurality has added to the scope for geographical research, and this continually evolving character, together with the potential new framework(s) offered by considerations of sustainability, present a dynamic prospect for future work.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

There are a number of books dealing with the topic of rural recreation and associated management issues, notably Curry (1994), Glyptis (1991) and Groome (1993).These focus primarily on the UK, as does Bromley (1994) in a handbook for recreation managers. Sharpley (1993; 1994) includes a wider range of examples, as do Sharpley and Sharpley (1997) who focus on rural tourism. Useful international collections of essays are Glyptis (1993) and Bouquet and Winter (1987) (on rural recreation), Butler et al. (1998) (on rural tourism) and Pearce and Butler (1993) (on tourism in general). A good introduction to rural planning in the UK is provided by Gilg (1996), and see Ilber y (1998) on general change in the countryside. Issues relating to access to land for recreation are considered by Harrison (1991) and Watkins (1996), to sustainability by Hunter and Green (1995) and Priestley et al. (1996), and to environmental issues by Mieczkowski (1995).

REFERENCES Bateman, I. (1995) Environmental and economic appraisal. In T.O’Riordan (ed.) Environmental Science for Environmental Management, Harlow: Longman, 45–66. Benjamin, C. (1994) The growing importance of diversfication activities for French farm households. Journal of Rural Studies 10, 331–42. Blacksell, M. (1993) Wilderness and landscape in the United States. In S.Glyptis (ed.) Leisure and the Environment: Essays in Honour of Professor J.A. Patmore, London: Belhaven, 266–76. Bouquet, M. and Winter, M. (eds) (1987) Who from their Labours Rest: Conflict and Practice in Rural Tourism. Aldershot: Gower. Boucher, S. and Whatmore, S. (1993) Green gains? Planning by agreement and nature conservation. Journal of Environmental Planning and Management 36, 33–49. Bramwell, B. (1994) Rural tourism and sustainable rural tourism. Journal of Sustainable Tourism 2, 1–6, Bromley, P. (1994) Countryside Recreation: A Handbook for Managers. London: E & F.N.Spon. Broom, G. (1991) Environmental management of countryside visitors. Ecos 12, 14–21. Brotherton, I. (1973) The concept of carrying capacity of countryside recreation areas. Recreation News Supplement 9, 6–10. Butler, R.W. (1991) Tourism, environment, and sustainable development. Environmental Conservation 18, 201–9. Butler, R.W. (1998) Rural recreation and tourism. In B.W.Ilbery (ed.) The Geography of Rural Change, Harlow: Longman, 211–32. Butler, R.W., Hall, C.M. and Jenkins, J.M. (eds) (1998) Tourism and Recreation in Rural Areas. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons. Campagne, P., Carrere, G. and Valceschini, E. (1990) Three agr icultural regions of France: three types of pluriactivity. Journal of Rural Studies 4, 415–22. Champion, A.G. (ed.) (1989) Counterurbanisation: The Changing Face of Population Deconcentration. London: Edward Arnold. Cherry, G.E. (1993) Changing social attitudes towards leisure and the countryside, 1890–1990. In S. Glyptis (ed.) Leisure and the Environment: Essays in Honour of Professor J.A.Patmore, London: Belhaven, 22–32. Clarke, J. (ed.) (1993) Nature in Question: An Anthology of Ideas and Arguments. London, Earthscan. Clawson, M. (1981) Methods for Measuring the Demand for the Value of Outdoor Recreation, 10th reprint,Washington DC: Resources for the Future.

COUNTRYSIDE RECREATION MANAGEMENT Cloke, P.J. (1992) The countryside: development, conservation and an increasingly marketable commodity. In P.J.Cloke (ed.) Policy and Change in Thatcher’s Britain, Oxford: Pergamon, 269–96. Cloke, P.J. (1993) The countryside as commodity: new rural spaces for leisure. In S.Glyptis (ed.) Leisure and the Environment: Essays in Honour of Professor J.A.Patmore, London: Belhaven, 53–67. Cloke, P.J. and Goodwin, M. (1992) Conceptualising countryside change: from post-Fordism to rural structured coherence. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers, new series 17, 321–36. Cloke, P.J. and Park, C.C. (1982) Country parks in national parks: a case study of Craig-y-Nos in the Brecon Beacons. Journal of Environmental Management 12, 173–85. Cloke, P.J. and Thrift, N.J. (1987) Intra-class conflict in rural areas. Journal of Rural Studies 3, 321–33. Coppock, J.T. and Duffield, B.S. (1975) Recreation in the countryside. London: Macmillan. Countryside Commission (1976) Tarn Hows: An Approach to the Management of a Popular Beauty Spot. Cheltenham: Countryside Commission. Countryside Commission (1988) Changing the Rights-ofway Network. Manchester: Countryside Commission. Countryside Commission (1991) Visitors to the Countryside. Cheltenham: Countryside Commission. Countryside Commission (1994) Managing Public Access. Cheltenham: Countryside Commission. Countryside Commission (1995) The Environmental Impact of Leisure Activities in the English Countryside. Cheltenham: Countryside Commission. Croall, J. (1995) Preserve or Destroy: Tourism and the Environment. London: Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation. Curry, N. (1985) Countryside recreation sites policy: a review. Town Planning Review 56, 70–89. Curry, N. (1994) Countryside Recreation:Access and Land Use Planning. Aldershot: E. & F.N.Spon. Curry, N. (1996) Access: policy directions for the late 1990s. In C.Watkins (ed.) Rights of Way: Policy, Culture and Management, London: Pinter, 47–62. Dernoi, L. (1991) About rural and farm tourism. Tourism Recreation Research 16, 3–6. Dower, M. (1965) The fourth wave—the challenge of leisure. Architects Journal 20 January, 123–90. Evans, N.J. and Ilber y, B.W. (1992) Far m-based accommodation and the restructuring of agriculture: evidence from three English counties. Journal of Rural Studies 8, 85–96. Field, B. and Macgregor, B. (1987) Forecasting Techniques for Urban and Regional Planning. London: Hutchinson.

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Gasson, R.M. (1988) The Economics of Part-time Farming. Harlow: Longman. Getz, D. (1991) Festivals, Special Events and Tourism. New York:Van Nostrand Reinhold. Gilg, A.W. (1996) Countryside Planning, 2nd edition. London: Routledge. Gilg, A.W. (1998) Policies and planning mechanisms: managing change in rural areas. In B.W.Ilbery (ed.) The Geography of Rural Change, Harlow: Longman, 189–210. Glyptis, S. (1991) Countryside Recreation. Harlow: Longman. Glyptis, S. (ed.) (1993) Leisure and the Environment: Essays in Honour of Professor J.A.Patmore. London: Belhaven. Greenwood, J. (1994) Dartmoor Area Tourism Initiative— a case study of visitor management in and around a national park. In A.V.Seaton (ed.) Tourism: The State of The Art, Chichester: John Wiley & Son, 682–90. Groome, D. (1993) Planning and Rural Recreation in Britain. Aldershot: Avebury. Groome, D. and Tarrant, C. (1985) Countryside recreation: achieving access for all. Countryside Planning Yearbook 6, 72–100. Hall, C.M. (1992) Hallmark Tourist Events: Impacts, Management and Planning. New York: Halstead Press. Hall, C.M. and Macionis, N. (1998) Wine tourism in Australia and New Zealand. In R.W.Butler, C.M. Hall and J.M.Jenkins (eds) Tourism and Recreation in Rural Areas, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 197–224. Hammitt, W.E. and Cole, D.N. (1987) Wildland Recreation Ecology and Management. New York: John Wiley & Sons. Harrison, C. (1991) Countryside Recreation in a Changing Society. London:TMS Partnership, University College. Hopkins, J. (1998) Commodifying the countryside: marketing myths of rurality. In R.W.Butler, C.M. Hall and J.M.Jenkins (eds) Tourism and Recreation in Rural Areas, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 139–56. Hunter, C. and Green, H. (1995) Tourism and the Environment: A Sustainable Relationship? London: Routledge. Ilbery, B.W. (ed.) (1998) The Geography of Rural Change. Harlow: Longman. Janiskee, R.L. and Drews, P.L. (1998) Rural festivals and community reimaging. In R.W.Butler, C.M. Hall and J.M.Jenkins (eds) Tourism and Recreation in Rural Areas, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 157–75. Jenkins, J.M., Hall, C.M. and Troughton, M.J. (1998) The restructuring of rural economies: rural tourism and recreation. In R.W.Butler, C.M.Hall and J.M.Jenkins (eds) Tourism and Recreation in Rural Areas, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 43–68. Jenkins, J.M. and Prin, E. (1998) Rural landholder attitudes: the case of public recreational access. In

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R.W.Butler, C.M.Hall and J.M.Jenkins (eds) Tourism and Recreation in Rural Areas, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 179–96. Kariel, H.G. and Kariel, P.E. (1982) Socio-cultural impacts of tourism: an example from the Austrian Alps. Geografiska Annaler 64B, 1–16. Killan, G. (1993) Protected Places: A History of Ontartio’s Provincial Parks System. Toronto: Dundurn Press. Lane, B. (1994) Sustainable rural tourism strategies: a tool for development and conservation. Journal of Sustainable Tourism 2, 102–11. Lavery, P. (1971) Recreation Geography. Newton Abbot: David & Charles. Luloff, A.E., Bridges, J.C., Graefe, A.R., Saylor, M., Martin, K. and Gitelson, R. (1994) Assessing rural tourism efforts in the United States. Annals of Tourism Research 21, 46–64. McCallum, J.D. and Adams, J.G.L. (1980) Charging for countryside recreation: a review with implications for Scotland. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers new series, 5, 350–68. McNaghten, P. (1995) Public attitudes to countryside leisure: a case study on ambivalence. Journal of Rural Studies 11, 135–47. Mather, A. (1993) Protected areas in the periphery: conservation and controversy in northern Scotland. Journal of Rural Studies 9, 371–84. Mieczkowski, Z. (1990) World Trends in Tourism and Recreation. NewYork: Peter Lang. Mieczkowski, Z. (1995) Environmental Issues of Tourism and Recreation. Lanham, Md.: University Press of America. Millward, H. (1993) Public access in the West European countryside: a comparative survey. Journal of Rural Studies 9, 39–51. Morgan, G. (1991) A Strategic Approach to the Planning and Management of Parks and Open Spaces. Basildon: Institute of Leisure Management. Mormont, M. (1987) Tourism and rural change: the symbolic impact. In M.Bouquet and M.Winter (eds) Who From Their Labours Rest: Conflict and Practice in Rural Tourism, Aldershot: Gower, 35–44. Mormont, M. (1990) Who is rural? or how to be rural: towards a sociology of the rural. In T.K.Marsden, P.Lowe and S.Whatmore (eds) Rural Restructuring, London: David Fulton, 21–44. Morris, C. and Potter, C. (1995) Recruiting the new conservationists: far mers’ adoption of agrienvironmental schemes in the UK. Journal of Rural Studies 11, 51–63. Murdoch, J. (1993) Sustainable rural development: towards a research agenda. Geoforum 24, 225–41.

Opperman, M. (1996) Rural tourism in southern Germany. Annals of Tourism Research 23, 86–102. Owens, S. (1984) Rural leisure and recreation research: a retrospective evaluation. Progress in Human Geography 8, 157–88. Pearce, D. and Butler, R.W. (eds) (1993) Tourism Research: Critiques and Challenges. London: Routledge. Pigram, J.J. (1983) Outdoor Recreation and Resource Management. Beckenham: Croom Helm. Pigram, J.J. (1993) Planning for tourism in rural areas: br idg ing the policy implementation gap. In D.Pearce and R.W.Butler (eds) Tourism Research: Cr itiques and Challenges, London: Routledge, 156–74. Priestley, G.K., Edwards, J.A. and Coccossis, H. (1996) Sustainable Tourism? European Experiences. Wallingford: CAB International. Robinson, G.M. (1990) Conflict and change in the countryside: rural economy, society and economy in the Developed World. London and New York: Belhaven Press. Robinson, G.M. (1994) The greening of agricultural policy: Scotland’s environmentally sensitive areas (ESAs). Journal of Environmental Planning and Management 37, 215–26. Rodgers, H.B. (1993) Estimating local leisure demand in the context of a regional planning strategy. In S.Glyptis (ed.) Leisure and the Environment: Essays in Honour of Professor J.A.Patmore, London: Belhaven, 116–30. Sharpley, R. (1993) Tourism and leisure in the countryside. Huntingdon: ELM. Sharpley, R. (1994) Tourism, tourists and society. Huntingdon: ELM. Sharpley, R. and Sharpley, J. (1997) Rural Tourism: An Introduction. London: International Thomson Business Press. Sidaway, R. (1990) Contemporary attitudes to landscape and implications for policy: a research agenda. Landscape Research 15(2), 2–6. Sidaway, R. (1993) Sport, recreation and nature conservation: developing good conservation practice. In S.Glyptis (ed.) Leisure and the Environment: Essays in Honour of Professor J.A. Patmore, London: Belhaven, 163–73. Simmons, I.G. (1975) Rural Recreation in the Industrial World. London: Edward Arnold. Smith, S. (1983) Recreation Geography. London: Longman. Smith, V. and Eadington, W. (1992) Tour ism Alter natives: Potentials and Problems in the Development of Tourism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press.

COUNTRYSIDE RECREATION MANAGEMENT Splash, C. and Simpson, I. (1994) Utilitarian and rightsbased alternatives for protecting sites of special scientific interest. Journal of Agricultural Economics 45, 15–26. Statham, D.C. (1993) Managing the wilder countryside. In S.Glyptis (ed.) Leisure and the Environment: Essays in Honour of Professor J.A.Patmore, London: Belhaven, 236–52. Swales, V. (1994) Incentives for countryside management. Ecos 15(3/4), 52–7. Urry, J. (1988) Cultural change and contemporary holidaymaking. Theory, Culture and Society 5, 35–55. Urry, J. (1991) The Tourist Gaze. London: Sage. Urry, J. (1995) Consuming Places. NewYork: Routledge. van Oosterzee, P. (1984) The recreation opportunity spectrum: its use and misuse. Australian Geographer 16, 97–104.

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Veal, A.J. (1987) Leisure and the Future. London: Allen & Unwin. Veal, A.J. (1993) Planning for leisure: past, present and future. In S.Glyptis (ed.) Leisure and the Environment: Essays in Honour of Professor J.A.Patmore, London: Belhaven, 85–95. Wall, G. (1972) Socio-economic variations in pleasure tr ip patter ns: the case of Hull car-owner s. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 59, 45–58. Watkins, C. (ed.) (1996) Rights of Way: Policy, Culture and Management. London: Pinter. Whitby, M. (ed.) (1994) Incentives for Countryside Management:The Case of Environmentally Sensitive Areas. Wallingford: CAB International.

19 The de-intensification of European agriculture Brian Ilbery

CONTEXTUAL SETTING

European agriculture has undergone substantial restructuring in the post-war period and, while both Western and Eastern Europe experienced forms of agricultural intensification between 1950 and the 1980s, the direction of change has since been quite different. In Eastern Europe, this has been based on a return to private farming. The transition has not been easy, and many structural problems still confront the agricultural sector, not least the re-creation of landed property rights and the development of an efficient market system of agricultural production (Repassy and Symes 1993; Ilbery 1998). Controlling agricultural output has thus not been a priority, which is in contrast to Western Europe, where the emphasis since the mid1980s has been on a post-productivist farming system. The objective has been to de-intensify agricultural production through extensification, diversification and far ming in more environmentally beneficial ways (Ilbery 1992; Battershill and Gilg 1996; Evans and Morris 1997). This chapter therefore focuses on the applied characteristics of, and problems associated with, the de-intensification of agriculture in Western Europe. Government policy, enacted through the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP), has been the main catalyst of change in European agriculture. Prior to the mid-1980s, a productivist ethos based on the principles of efficiency and rationality was engendered through high levels of government support for farming. A system of guaranteed prices

stimulated farmers to maximise production, irrespective of market demand. As a consequence, agricultural systems became more intensive and specialised, and farming became more spatially concentrated in ‘core’ farming regions such as the Po valley, Paris basin and East Anglia (Bowler 1985a and b). Each of the three dimensions of productivist agriculture—intensification, specialisation and concentration—was accompanied by what Bowler (1985a) described as secondary consequences (Table 19.1). For example, rising indebtedness and declining farm incomes occurred as farmers became trapped on a ‘technological treadmill’ (Ward 1993). Second, overproduction of many agricultural products increased as both efficient and inefficient farmers were encouraged to intensify production. Third, farmers took an exploitative rather than conserving attitude towards their natural resource base, creating a number of environmental disbenefits. These included the pollution of air, soil and water courses, the removal of hedgerows and woodlands, the drainage of wetlands, and the ploughing of moorland and herbrich permanent grasslands. Finally, productivist agriculture polarised farm-size structures and further exaggerated spatial inequalities in farm types and farm incomes. Regions became overspecialised on particular crops or livestock, as for example in the production of table wine in the Languedoc region of Mediterranean France, where attempts to de-specialise and diversify agriculture were only partially successful (Jones 1989).

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Table 19.1 Secondary consequences of productivist agriculture.

Source: Bowler 1985a.

Since the mid-1980s, the established model of agr icultural productivism has been under challenge, and the European Union (EU) has placed considerable emphasis on the deintensification of farm production. Alternative discourses associated with reduced price support, environmental protection, sustainability, food quality and integrated rural development have arisen both from within and from outside the agricultural community. The aim of this chapter, therefore, is to examine some of the challenges associated with the transition towards postproductivist farming systems in Western Europe. More specifically, the chapter first conceptualises post-productivism and outlines how government policy is now responding to, rather than stimulating, agricultural change. It then discusses some of the key applied aspects of agricultural deintensification, drawing on case study evidence to highlight the spatially uneven impact of postproductivism in Europe.The chapter concludes by questioning whether the trend towards more extensive farming systems is sustainable.

CONCEPTUALISING POSTPRODUCTIVIST AGRICULTURE

The movement away from a predominantly productivist ethos in agr iculture has been conceptualised as the post-productivist transition (PPT) (Shucksmith 1993; Lowe et al. 1993; Ilbery and Bowler 1998). While the exact nature of the PPT has still to be defined in developed market economies, it is associated with a number of known character istics (Table 19.2). More specifically, Bowler and Ilbery (1997) conceptualised the PPT in terms of three bi-polar dimensions of change: • • •

intensification to extensification specialisation to diversification concentration to dispersion

The first two have been actively encouraged through reforms of the CAP, but greater difficulty has been experienced in dispersing agriculture away from its concentrated pattern in ‘core’ areas. Indeed, the productivist ethos is well entrenched

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Table 19.2 Characteristics of the post-productivist transition.

in policy circles, so much so that the two farming systems (productivist and post-productivist) are likely to coexist in the future. This may comprise an intensive system of farming, which emphasises food quantity, and a more extensive system, which espouses sustainability and food quality. It is probable that the two farming systems will become further spatially differentiated, with the prosperous agr icultural regions in Europe producing for the mass food market and the more marginal agricultural areas providing quality food products for niche markets. During the PPT, the CAP has been responding to, rather than stimulating, change. Initially, this took the form of production control measures, through for example milk quotas and arable setaside (Briggs and Kerrell 1992; Naylor 1993). However, these had limited impact because farm subsidies were still coupled to the amount of food produced. It was not until the so-called MacSharry reforms of the CAP in 1992 that the idea of decoupling farm incomes from the volume of food production was taken seriously (Robinson and Ilbery 1993). This began through a system of income aid, in the form of arable area payments (AAPs) and voluntar y agr i-environmental programmes (AEPs). Never theless, the movement towards agricultural de-intensification in the EU has been slow, and in 1995 the equivalent of 49 per cent of farm incomes still came in the form of subsidies; this compared with 15 per cent in the USA and 3 per cent in New Zealand. Such a high level of government support reflects deeply embedded attitudes, which make a move away from

agricultural productivism politically difficult. Despite this, mounting macro-scale pressures, including the internationalisation of the food supply system and the greening of agricultural policy, are being placed on the CAP to decouple farm incomes completely from government economic subsidies. These pressures have gained momentum through the 1992 Rio Earth Summit, the 1993 GATT agreement on world agricultural trade, and the 1996 Federal Agricultural Improvement and Reform Act (FAIR) in the USA. The FAIR programme has replaced subsidies through deficiency and set-aside payments with a sevenyear system of decoupled payments, where farmers are not obliged to produce particular crops or any crop at all in order to receive income aid (Harvey 1996).Thus income is not tied to production (as it is in the EU’s AAPs). Farmers are still able to sell their farm produce, but income from this is dependent on market, not guaranteed, prices. These ideas, especially the move towards market orientation, are almost certain to influence the next round of the WTO (formerly GATT) negotiations beginning in 1999 (Ritson and Harvey 1997). Indeed, the European Commission has already responded to the pressures through publication of its Agenda 2000 proposals, which advocates further major cuts in guaranteed prices paid to farmers, more decoupled income aid (but with an upper ceiling) and the channelling of support to the poorest farmers in marginal agricultural areas. Clearly, farm households are having to adjust to policy change and the PPT; it is at the farm

THE DE-INTENSIFICATION OF EUROPEAN AGRICULTURE level where the consequences of policy reform are ‘played out’. Bowler (1992) and Bowler et al.. (1996) referred to these adjustments as ‘pathways of farm business development’.While one possible pathway for some farmers is the continuation of the productivist model of industrialised farming, most options involve a redistribution of farm resources into different types of agricultural deintensification. This may involve an extensification of production through either the maintenance/recreation of traditional farming systems or the adoption of AEPs. It might also involve a diversification of the income base into different types of agricultural (e.g. non-conventional crops and livestock enterprises, woodlands) and/or structural (e.g. farm tourism, direct marketing and processing of food) diversification. Finally, it may involve the re-localisation and thus the dispersion of the agro-food system in which locally produced quality products, with real authenticity of geographical origin and traceability, can act as niche markets (Marsden 1996).This is one possible way in which marginal agricultural areas can exploit the increasing demand for local and wholesome food products. These three applied aspects of the PPT are not mutually exclusive and could be interlinked through developments in, for example, organic farming (Park and Lohr 1996). Nevertheless, for the rest of this chapter, each dimension is examined in isolation, drawing on case study evidence where appropriate. Extensification: agri-environmental programmes

Although initially conceived as an attempt to reduce agricultural production by paying farmers to de-intensify their farming systems, the main thrust of extensification in European agriculture has come through the adoption of different agrienvironmental programmes (AEPs). AEPs can be interpreted as a political compromise between the demands of the farm lobby and the calls for change by environmental groups (Potter 1998). Whereas the former group demanded payments for environmental management in the EU, the latter group argued that payments to farmers

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(subsidies) should be withdrawn if specified conservation conditions are not met (the concept of cross-compliance). The first signs of incorporating environmental dimensions into EU agricultural policy came in a Commission ‘Green Paper’ in 1985 (CEC 1985). This recommended the withdrawal of land along environmentally strategic buffer zones, within ecological corridors along field boundaries, and around water bodies. The Green Paper suggested the designation of environmentally sensitive areas (ESAs), within which farmers would receive an annual premium to introduce or maintain farming practices that were compatible with the protection of the environment and natural resources. These ideas were incorporated into the new Structures Regulation of 1985 (797/ 85), and EU funding for ESAs was confir med in 1986. Indeed, continuous policy developments between 1985 and 1992, including extensification (Regulation 1760/87) and arable set-aside (Regulation 1094/ 88), were based on the principle of financial compensation for reducing agricultural output. Although the major reforms of the CAP in 1992 were economically driven (Ritson and Harvey 1997), Regulation 2078/92 stated that member states must implement a package of ‘accompanying measures’, to include AEPs. Each countr y had to have approved an agrienvironmental package by 1993. The schemes were to be voluntary over five years, and farmers would be financially compensated for loss of income if they abided by one or more of the following: • • • • • •

substantial reduction in the use of fertilisers and/or the introduction/continuation of organic farming methods; change to more extensive forms of crop/ livestock production; use of other far ming practices that are beneficial to the environment and natural resource protection; upkeep of abandoned land; long-term set-aside of agricultural land for environmental reasons; land management for public access and leisure.

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Half of the eligible expenditure for the AEPs was to come from the EU budget, and the Regulation was open to interpretation by individual states. In the UK, for example, the 1993 package included more ESAs, access to ESAs and set-aside land, new nitrate measures, an organic farming scheme, a moorland scheme, and a habitat improvement scheme through long-term set-aside (Potter 1993). The principle of compensating farmers for their projected loss of income suggests that ‘AEPs have amounted to little more than a continuation and extension of existing programmes such as ESAs’ (Winter 1996: p. 255). There has been limited research on the applied and geographical consequences of AEPs in Europe (Whitby 1996; Evans and Mor r is 1997). International comparisons are difficult, because different schemes exist in different countries. Even within one scheme, such as ESAs in the United Kingdom, prescriptions vary between designated areas.The focus of research, therefore, has been on uptake rates of specific schemes in particular regions or countries. For example, Wilson (1995; 1996; 1997) examined uptake and farmers’ attitudes towards the MEKA programme in Baden-Württemberg (Germany) and the ESA

scheme in Wales. Similarly,Wilson et al. (1996) and Curry and Stucki (1997) analysed AEPs in Switzerland (see Box 19.1). However, the real environmental benefits of AEPs are far from clear. Many farmers are ‘passive’ adopters who enter the schemes for financial rather than environmental reasons; as Morris and Potter (1995) suggest, there is a need to examine the longer-term impact of AEPs, well after the schemes have finished. Indeed, academic research has pointed to a number of weaknesses of AEPs, including: 1

2

They are effectively ‘bolted on’ to a productivist-oriented agricultural policy. Because of a lack of cross compliance, where farmers receive economic payments (e.g. subsidies or income aid) only if they satisfy environmental prescriptions, AEPs do not automatically lead to the production of environmental goods. Most AEPs focus on inputs, such as application rates of inorganic fertilisers, rather than outputs. Thus farmers get paid for satisfying certain conditions rather than for results achieved (in terms of environmental conservation).

Box 19.1 Agri-environmental programmes (AEPs) in Switzerland Since the mid-1980s, Swiss agricultural policy has shifted away from price supports and towards both direct payments to farmers and specific objectives for the environment, ecology and welfare of rural communities (Curry and Stucki 1997). Unlike the CAP reforms of 1992, changes to the Swiss Federal Agricultural Law in 1992 involved a full reappraisal of agricultural policy. This covers all agricultural land and is invoked through crosscompliance. Two elements now dominate agricultural policy: first, the decoupling of farm incomes from price supports; and second, direct payments to farmers. Under the first element, farmers receive baseline payments (price and marketing safeguards) for the production of local and high-quality food products that are associated with environmentally sustainable farming methods. Under the second element, three types of payment are available. The first is compensation for reduced subsidies, but farmers receive these only if they satisfy the management practices of environmental sensitivity and animal welfare. Second, social payments are available to small family farms to help to retain people in

rural areas; and third, farmers receive payments for entering voluntary AEPs. Under the voluntary AEPs, the amount of income aid available to farmers varies according to different ‘levels’ of ecological farming. Thus the smallest payments are made for biological diversity (extensive grassland cultivation) and the highest for organic farming. The different schemes are administered by the twenty-six cantons, which have some flexibility to var y the prescriptions of AEPs according to local conditions (Wilson et al. 1996). After one year, 20 per cent of the 75,000 Swiss holdings had been accepted into an AEP, and by 1995 40 per cent of the entered agricultural area was involved in ‘integrated production’ or ‘organic’ farming. In Switzerland, therefore, ecological farming has been proposed as the dominant farming system; it is a single scheme for the whole country, with real crosscompliance, and is not ‘bolted on’ to an essentially economically driven policy that is designed to maintain farm subsidies.

THE DE-INTENSIFICATION OF EUROPEAN AGRICULTURE 3

4

5

6

They are often spatially targeted, with little control on production and environmental management outside the designated areas, and this reduces their overall effectiveness. It is questionable whether voluntary schemes can initiate land-use change on farms, especially if farmers do not have to enter the whole farm into an AEP. AEPs are not really sustainable, in the sense that they lead to a significant reduction in both the energy and agrochemical dependencies of modern farming and the dependency of farmers on state financial support (Evans and Morris 1997). There is a general lack of finance for AEPs, accounting for less than 5 per cent of the total agricultural budget of the EU.

AEPs will continue to have little impact as long as far mers continue to receive subsidies for producing food in designated and non-designated areas. Potter (1998) raises the question of whether policy makers should continue to ‘green’ existing agricultural policy or remove all support for agricultural production and provide farmers with income aid for environmental conservation. Diversification: other gainful activities

Reforms of the CAP and especially cuts in guaranteed prices paid to farmers have seen the ‘once peripheral option of supporting farm income diversification become more central’ (Fuller 1990: p. 67). Defined as the generation, by farm household members, of income from either on- and/or off-farm sources in addition to that obtained from primary agriculture, other gainful activities (OGAs) represent a major pathway of farm business development. In a recent study of different pathways in the northern Pennines in England, Bowler et al. (1996) found that 33 per cent of farm households had off-farm OGAs and 29 per cent had on-farm OGAs. Nevertheless, the study identified a ‘resistance’ to diversification, which was often considered only when traditional farming was unable to address the income needs of farm households.

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There can be little doubt that the incidence of OGAs in Europe has been increasing during the PPT. Indeed, a major research project conducted by the Arkleton Trust in twenty-four regions of Western Europe in the late 1980s indicated that nearly 60 per cent of farm households were pluriactive (Fuller 1990). A large number of OGAs are off-farm (over 50 per cent of all households compared with less than 10 per cent with on-farm OGAs), but this varies considerably between the twenty-four regions. So, while 81 and 72 per cent of far m households in Freyung-Grafenau (Ger many) and West Bothnia (Sweden), respectively, have off-farm OGAs, this falls to 33 and 27 per cent in the west of Ireland and Picardie (France), respectively (Box 19.2). This pattern is further complicated by differences in which family member(s) participate in off-farm work. However, in all regions farm operators are more prevalent than spouses in off-farm work; in only five regions (in Spain, Italy, Austria and Ireland) do other family members (including spouses) outnumber farm operators. Not surprisingly, therefore, the Arkleton project found that one-third of farm households obtain over 50 per cent of their income from off-farm sources (Plate 19.1).This again varies between the regions (Figure 19.1), from a high of 71 per cent in Freyung-Grafenau to a low of just 10 per cent in Picardie. The research found that just 17 per cent of farm households derive 100 per cent of their income from farming, whereas 43 per cent obtain less than 30 per cent in this way. Fuller (1990) concluded that patterns of pluriactivity (OGAs) in Western Europe are quite complex, reflecting ‘the interplay of farming, household and labour market characteristics, as well as cultural factors’ (p. 368). It is the interaction of many ‘external’ and ‘internal’ factors that shapes geographical patterns of plur iactivity in Europe. For example, Efstratoglou-Todoulou (1990) identified a relationship between regional socio-economic conditions (e.g. local labour markets, unemployment, tourist activities) and rates of pluriactivity in Greece. In contrast, Edmond and Crabtree (1994) found that OGAs were more

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Box 19.2 Other gainful activities (OGAs) in France The amount of farm household income coming from onand off-farm OGAs in France increased from 15 per cent in 1956 to 42 per cent in 1988 (Benjamin 1994). However, there are wide variations between the regions, from 25 to 52 per cent, and Campagne et al. (1990) related these to different levels of agricultural modernisation. They examined the different types of pluriactivity practised in three contrasting agricultural regions: 1 Picardie, an area of large-scale arable production in northern France. 2 Languedoc, a region in southern France with a long history of combining wine production with other work. 3 Savoy valleys, a physically marginal area for agriculture in southeast France. Campagne et al. described Picardie as a zone of ‘business pluriactivity’ because household members are using agricultural resources to increase non-agricultural activities. Many spouses (especially wives) work outside agriculture and there is a culture of accumulation among

the mainly family-based farms in this prosperous agricultural area. In contrast, the generation of mainly offfarm income in Languedoc, especially by the spouse and children, is vital to the maintenance and modernisation of the farm business. The authors referred to this as the ‘pluriactivity of maintaining farming’. Finally, in the Savoy Valleys, where there is a progressive abandonment of marginal farming, farm households are having to search for a diverse range of on- and off-farm income-generating activities. Not surprisingly, this was described as ‘pluriactivity for survival’. Explanations for such patterns would need to take account of both ‘external’ and ‘internal’ factors. For example, Benjamin (1994) indicated that CAP reforms have increased wives’ participation in offfarm work. However, she also showed that the age and education of farm wives have a greater positive effect on off-farm participation, especially among women aged between 26 and 42 who do not have a high school diploma.

Plate 19.1 Diversifying the farm business into alternative (non-agricultural) enterprises.

THE DE-INTENSIFICATION OF EUROPEAN AGRICULTURE Figure 19.1 Off-farm OGAs in selected regions of Western Europe.

Source: Based on data derived from Fuller 1990.

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important in the least densely populated areas, reflecting social and cultural rather than economic factors. The increasing participation of women in the labour force is one such example that helps to explain the expansion of OGAs (Benjamin 1994). Similar relationships have been found between such ‘internal’ factors as farm size, family life cycle, succession, age and education and the adoption of OGAs (Gasson 1987; Ilbery and Bowler 1993). In a rare study of reg ional patter ns of plur iactivity, Efstratoglou-Todoulou (1990) hypothesised that adoption of OGAs would be positively related to off-farm opportunities (‘pull’ f actors) and negatively related to favourable farming conditions (‘push’ factors). Applying his ideas to Greece, he found that pull factors were stronger in less favoured areas, with low farm incomes and low farm opportunities; here OGAs were a necessity. In contrast, push factors exerted a significant inverse effect on OGAs in areas where agricultural structures and farm incomes were higher; in such areas, farm households have alternative opportunities and so OGAs are the result of choice. Although identifying some ‘external’ factors affecting regional patterns of pluriactivity, EfstratoglouTodoulou suggested that a full understanding of the spatial distribution of OGAs in Europe could be obtained only by incorporating ‘internal’ characteristics of the farm household into the modelling exercise. Dispersion: speciality food products

Many farmers in the EU, especially those in marginal agricultural areas, will find it increasingly difficult to adjust to the continual reforms of the CAP and the environmental, health and welfare problems associated with intensive agriculture. One possible adjustment strategy is the development of locally produced speciality food products (SFPs; see Box 19.3), with real authenticity of geog raphical or ig in and traceability (Marsden 1996; Battershill and Gilg 1996). This offers some potential for a relocalisation of the agro-food system and thus agricultural dispersion. The lagging regions in

Europe are among those that could benefit from the increasing demands for SFPs, especially if they are tied to a regional image and notions of sustainability and environmental friendliness. Indeed, the Committee of the Regions (1996) described SFPs as a possible trump card for the regions and one that could engender endogenous and bottom-up rural development (Bryden 1994). There is currently little geographical research that links SFPs to specific places (Ilbery and Kneafsey 1998). However, there is growing interest in quality and regional imagery.The Scottish Food Strategy Group (1993: p. 3) defined a quality food product as ‘one which is differentiated in a positive manner by reason of one or more factors from the standard product, is recognised as such by the consumer, and can therefore command a market benefit if it is effectively marketed.’ The key to success is to link quality to a regional image through marketing and the promotion of place. As some consumers, notably from within the ‘service class’, are on a quest for authenticity, through for example quality rural products and services, private and public institutions need to develop marketing techniques to ‘sell places’. Urry (1995: p. 163) suggests that places can be ‘substantially reconstructed’, so that the focus shifts away from the sales of what is produced to the production of what will sell. Despite the lack of work on SFPs, Moran (1993) provided a lead when he made a direct link between product and place in the French wine appellation system. The basic philosophy of this system is that wine is an expression of the geog raphical individuality of places. Consequently, the creation of a strong regional identity is essential if wines are to sell at the best prices in international markets. Moran quotes the example of Chateauneuf-du-Pape, where the appellation laws (rather than any scientific measurement) created an image of high-quality wines; here is an example of a product creating the regional image. More recently, Bell and Valentine (1997) suggested that ‘we are where we eat’ and argued that the link between product and place can be so strong that ‘almost any product which has some tie to place—no matter

THE DE-INTENSIFICATION OF EUROPEAN AGRICULTURE

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Box 19.3 Speciality food products (SFPs) in England The speciality food and drinks sector in Britain employs over 20,000 people and has an annual turnover of nearly £3 billion. It is dominated by small and medium enterprises (SMEs) using traditional recipes and/or innovative ideas to make high-quality products. The focus is on using wholesome ingredients, and many SMEs cater for niche markets. Concer ns over agricultural intensification have increased the opportunity to sell SFPs outside their regions of origin. However, they rarely have the resources or skills to find outlets in national and international markets. This is the justification for speciality food groups. A national network of regional and county speciality food groups exists in Britain; fifteen regional and county groups cover England and Wales (Figure 19.2), and the Scottish and Northern Ireland groups are managed by Sottish Enterprise and A Taste of Ulster, respectively. Local and county groups in England often lacked the necessary critical mass to succeed. In 1991, therefore, the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food launched

a six-year grant scheme for regional food groups; there are currently six, and a seventh (Heart of England) was launched in early 1998. Their development is coordinated and managed by Food from Britain. Over 60 per cent of the speciality food and drink producers employ five or less employees and sell a majority of their products through either their own shops or local caterers (although mail orders and the multiple retailers are other important outlets). A wide range of SFPs are produced in the different regions of England, from farmhouse cheeses (Plate 19.2) and smoked/cured meats to salad dressings and special occasion cakes and biscuits. Taste of the West, for example, has nearly 200 producer members in its seven counties, over seventy of which are concentrated in Devon. Here the emphasis is very much on dairy and speciality drink products, followed by meats, bakery products and preserves. Most producers are strongly attached to their regions, and there is now a need to use regional imagery to further develop the link between product and place. Figure 19.2 Regional and country speciality food groups in England.

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Box 19.3 continued Plate 19.2 Speciality food products in Britain: farmhouse cheeses.

how invented this may be —can be sold as embodying that place’ (p. 155). The European Commission has encouraged the production of SFPs from specific regions through Regulations 2081/92 and 2082/92. While the latter introduced certificates of special character for quality products produced with local raw materials and/or a traditional mode of

production, the former introduced protected designations of or igin (PDOs) and protected geographical indications (PGIs). These are European quality marks for products from a specific region where quality is due exclusively to a particular geographical environment (PDO) or where a product from a specific region possesses a specific quality, but not necessarily due to its natural

THE DE-INTENSIFICATION OF EUROPEAN AGRICULTURE environment (PGI). Both of these designations are available to producers working in cooperative groups, but their uptake across Europe still awaits detailed research. In response to an OECD (1995) report on niche markets and the statement by the Committee of the Regions (1996), a major European project, funded by the European Commission, is attempting to help public institutions to develop strategies, policies and structures to enable the successful marketing of SFPs in the lagging regions of the EU. The RIPPLE project is attempting to link product and place by conducting research on regional imagery and marketing in relation to the creation of SFPs from twelve lagging rural areas (Ilbery and Kneafsey 1998). Investigating a range of quality products and services, RIPPLE will involve surveys of both producers and consumers of SFPs, as well as the public and private agencies concerned with their promotion and successful marketing. In the future, the production of SFPs in the peripheral regions of Europe may contribute to the process of agricultural dispersion.

CONCLUSION

This chapter has focused on the applied dimensions of, and problems relating to, the deintensification of agriculture in Western Europe. It has highlighted the duality between ‘productivist’ and ‘post-productivist’ farming systems and examined the uneven spatial development associated with the PPT. Different regions are dominated by different pathways of farm business development, and de-intensification is being encouraged through a combination of extensification (AEPs), diversification (OGAs) and dispersion (SFPs). The PPT is being regulated by the state, which will need to reform the CAP further in response to the growing trends towards market orientation and sustainability. While the former is pressing for farmers to receive market prices for their products without economic subsidies, the latter is seeking a more environmentally sound system of farming that is less dependent on major energy and

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agrochemical inputs. Indeed, at the core of the PPT is the concept of sustainable agriculture. Although this can be inter preted in environmental, socio-economic or productive senses (Brklacich et al. 1990), there are two main models of sustainable agriculture: idealist and instrumental (Bowler 1992). While the former adopts an ‘alternative agriculture’ perspective and argues that ‘no’ or ‘low’ growth modes are the only long-term option for agriculture, the latter is more conventional and sees sustainability as a contextual process rather than a set of specific prescriptions. The instrumentalist model is thus less rigorous and advocates an extensive, diversified and conservation-oriented system of farming.This contrasts with the organic, biodynamic and ecological systems of farming put forward by the idealist school of thought. In Western Europe, only a minority of farmers are pursuing the idealist model.The instrumentalist model is more popular with farmers and is being encouraged through such state regulation as limits on fertiliser application, imposition of minimum standards of pesticide residues in food, constraints on types and rates of application of agrochemicals, and subsidies to farm under lower input—lower output systems. In the longer term, it could be that the only payments made to farmers under the CAP will be for environmental conservation. Indeed, the future focus of policy will be broader than agriculture, incorporating rural diversification and integrated rural development. The latter needs to be multisectoral, sustainable and based on local needs through the concept of subsidiarity. GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Bowler, I. (1985) Agriculture under the Common Agricultural Policy: A Geography. Manchester University Press, Manchester. Examines the main elements of the CAP and the spatial dimensions of ‘productivist’ agriculture in the EU up to the early 1980s. Evans, N. and Morris, C. (1997) Towards a geography of agri-environmental policies in England and Wales. Geoforum 28, 189–204.

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Provides a review of the development of AEPs at national, regional and local geographical scales. Ilbery, B. and Bowler, I. (1998) From agricultural productivism to post-productivism. In Ilbery, B. (ed.) The Geography of Rural Change, Longman, London, 57–84. Offers a detailed account of both theoretical and empirical aspects of ‘productivist’ and ‘post-productivist’ farming systems. Robinson, G. and Ilbery, B. (1993) Reforming the CAP: beyond MacSharry. In A.Gilg (ed.) Progress in Rural Policy and Planning, Volume 3, Belhaven Press, London, 197–207. Gives an insight into agricultural policy development and reforms of the CAP in the EU. Winter, M. (1996) Rural Politics: Policies for Agriculture, Forestry and the Environment. Routledge, London. Is a study of the evolution and content of policies affecting the countryside, especially in Britain.

REFERENCES Battershill, M. and Gilg, A. (1996) Traditional farming and agro-environmental policy in southwest England: back to the future. Geoforum 27, 133–47. Bell, D. and Valentine, G. (1997) Consuming Geographies:We Are Where We Eat. Routledge, London. Benjamin, C. (1994) The growing importance of diversification activities for French farm households. Journal of Rural Studies 10, 331–42. Bowler, I. (1985a) Some consequences of the industrialisation of agriculture in the European Community. In M.Healey and B.Ilbery (eds) The Industrialisation of the Countryside, GeoBooks, Norwich, 75–98. Bowler, I. (1985b) Agriculture under the Common Agricultural Policy: A Geography. Manchester University Press, Manchester. Bowler, I. (1992) Sustainable agriculture as an alternative path of farm business development. In I.Bowler, C.Bryant and D.Nellis (eds) Rural Systems in Transition: Agriculture and Environment, CAB International, Wallingford, 237–53. Bowler, I. and Ilbery, B. (1997) The regional consequences for agriculture of changes to the Common Agricultural Policy. In C.Laurent and I. Bowler (eds) CAP and the Regions: Building a Multidisciplinary Framework for the

Analysis of the EU Agricultural Space, INRA, Versailles, 105–16. Bowler, I., Clark, G., Crockett, A., Ilbery, B. and Shaw, A. (1996) The development of alter native f ar m enterprises: a case study of family labour farms in the north Pennines of England. Journal of Rural Studies 12, 285–95. Briggs, D. and Kerrell, E. (1992) Patterns and implications of policy-induced agricultural adjustments in the European Community. In A. Gilg (ed.) Restructuring the Countryside: Environmental Policy in Practice, Avebury, Aldershot, 85– 102. Brklacich, M., Bryant, C. and Smit, B. (1990) Review and appraisal of concepts of sustainable food production systems. Environmental Management 15, 1–14. Bryden, J. (1994) Prospects for rural areas in an enlarged Europe. Journal of Rural Studies 10, 387–94. Campagne, P., Carrère, G. and Valceschini, E. (1990) Three types of agricultural region: three types of pluriactivity. Journal of Rural Studies 6, 415–22. Commission of the European Communities (1985) Perspectives for the Common Agricultural Policy. CEC, Brussels. Committee of the Regions (1996) Promoting and Protecting Local Products. Opinion of the Committee of the Regions, CDR 54/96. Curry, N. and Stucki, E. (1997) Swiss agricultural policy and the environment: an example for the rest of Europe to follow? Journal of Environmental Planning and Management 40, 465–82. Edmond, H. and Crabtree, R. (1994) Regional variation in Scottish pluriactivity: the socioeconomic contexts for different types of non-farming activity. Scottish Geographical Magazine 110, 76–84. Efstratoglou-Todoulou, S. (1990) Pluriactivity in different socio-economic context: a test of the push-pull hypothesis in Greek farming. Journal of Rural Studies 6, 407–13. Evans, N. and Morris, C. (1997) Towards a geography of agri-environmental policies in England and Wales. Geoforum 28, 189–204. Fuller, A. (1990) From part-time farming to pluriactivity: a decade of change in rural Europe. Journal of Rural Studies 6, 361–73. Gasson, R. (1987) The nature and extent of part-time f ar ming in England and Wales. Jour nal of Agricultural Economics 38, 167–91. Harvey, D. (1996) The US Far m Bill—‘FAIR’ or ‘FOUL’? In D.Colman (ed.) The American Farm Bill Implications for CAP Reform, Manchester University Press, 82–93.

THE DE-INTENSIFICATION OF EUROPEAN AGRICULTURE Ilbery, B. (1992) Agricultural policy and land diversion in the European Community. In A.Gilg (ed.) Progress in Rural Policy and Planning, Volume 2, Belhaven Press, London, 153–66. Ilbery, B. (1998) The challenge of agricultural restructuring in the European Union. In D.Pinder (ed.) The New Europe: Economy, Society and Environment, Wiley, London, 341–57. Ilbery, B. and Bowler, I. (1993) The Farm Diversification Grant Scheme: adoption and non-adoption in England and Wales. Environment and Planning C 11, 161–70. Ilbery, B. and Bowler, I. (1998) From agricultural productivism to post-productivism. In B.Ilbery (ed). The Geography of Rural Change, Longman, London, 57–84. Ilbery, B. and Kneafsey, M. (1998) Product and place: promoting quality products and services in the lagging rural regions of the European Union. European Urban and Regional Studies 5, 329–41. Jones, A. (1989) Reform of the European Community’s table wine sector: agricultural despecialisation in the Languedoc. Geography 74, 29–37. Lowe, P., Murdoch, J., Marsden,T., Munton, R. and Flynn, A. (1993) Regulating the new rural spaces: the uneven development of land. Journal of Rural Studies 9, 205–22. Marsden,T. (1996) Rural geography trend report: the social and political bases of rural restructuring. Progress in Human Geography 20, 246–58. Moran, W. (1993) The wine appellation as territory in France and California. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 83, 694–717. Morris, C. and Potter, C. (1995) Recruiting the new conservationists: adoption of agri-environmental schemes in the UK. Journal of Rural Studies 11, 51–63. Naylor, E. (1993) Milk quotas and changing patterns of dairying in France. Journal of Rural Studies 9, 53–63. OECD (1995) Niche Markets as a Rural Development Strategy. OECD, Paris. Park,T. and Lohr, L. (1996) Supply and demand factors for organic produce. American Journal of Agricultural Economics 78, 647–55.

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Potter, C. (1993) Pieces in a jigsaw: a critique of the new agri-environment measures. Ecos 14, 52–4. Potter, C. (1998) Conserving nature: agrienvironmental policy, development and change. In B.Ilbery (ed.) The Geography of Rural Change, Longman, London, 85–105. Repassy, H. and Symes, D. (1993) Perspectives on agrarian reform in east-central Europe. Sociologia Ruralis 33, 81–91. Ritson, C. and Harvey, D. (eds) (1997) The Common Agricultural Policy, second edition. CAB International, Wallingford. Robinson, G. and Ilbery, B. (1993) Reforming the CAP: beyond MacSharry. In A.Gilg (ed.) Progress in Rural Policy and Planning, Volume 3, Belhaven Press, London, 197–207. Scottish Food Strategy Group (1993) Scotland Means Quality. SFSG, October. Shucksmith, M. (1993) Farm household behaviour and the transition to post-productivism. Journal of Agricultural Economics 44, 466–78. Urry, J. (1995) Consuming Places. Routledge, London. Ward, N. (1993) The agricultural treadmill and the rural environment in the post-productivist era. Sociologia Ruralis 33, 348–64. Whitby, M. (ed.) (1996) The European Environment and CAP Reform: Policies and Prospects for Conservation. CAB International,Wallingford. Wilson, G. (1995) German agri-environmental schemes: II The MEKA programme in Baden-Wümemberg. Journal of Rural Studies 11, 149–59. Wilson, G. (1996) Farmer environmental attitudes and ESA participation. Geoforum 27, 115–31. Wilson, G. (1997) Factors influencing farmer participation in the Environmentally Sensitive Areas Scheme. Journal of Environmental Management 50, 67–93. Wilson, G., Lezzi, M. and Egli, C. (1996) Agrienvironmental schemes in Switzerland. European Urban and Regional Studies 3, 205–24. Winter, M. (1996) Rural Politics: Policies for Agriculture, Forestry and the Environment. Routledge, London.

20 Wetlands conservation Max Wade and Elena Lopez-Gunn

SETTING THE SCENE

Wetlands represent only 6 per cent of the Earth’s surface, but it is believed that in 1900 this percentage might have been twice as much (Barbier et al. 1994).Wetlands include a wide array of habitats, ranging from fens and marshes to mangrove forests and rice paddies, and are considered one of the most threatened landscapes in the world (Gardiner 1994). A simple definition is ‘land with soils that are permanently flooded’ (Williams 1990: p. 1).The Ramsar Convention, an international treaty to conserve wetlands, defines wetlands as: ‘areas of marsh, fen, peatland or water, whether natural or artificial, permanent or temporary, with water that is static or flowing, fresh, brackish or salt, including areas of marine water the depth of which at low tide does not exceed six metres.’ This encompasses a wide range of habitats, the main types being shown in Box 20.1 based on just one recognised classification

(Gleich 1993). According to the Ramsar classification, there are marine, coastal, inland and man-made types, subdivided into thirty categories of natural wetland and nine humanmade ones, such as reservoirs, barrages, and gravel pits (Dugan 1993). The International Wetlands Research Bureau has established a wetland database. In relation to natural wetlands, the World Conservation Monitoring Centre (Groombridge 1992) summarises the extent of different types relative to latitude (Figure 20.1). Surveys have established the extent of wetlands, both past and present, in different areas of the world, leading to the compilation of inventories of wetland sites, particularly for plants, birds and mammals, and investigations into physical, chemical and biological processes. Collectively, these have developed a real insight into wetland ecology. Wetlands epitomise the problem of trying to classify ecosystems and habitats.While mangroves, for example, meet the criteria set for wetlands,

Box 20.1 A classification of wetland habitats Marsh A frequently or continually inundated wetland characterised by emergent herbaceous vegetation adapted to saturated soil conditions. In European terminology, a marsh has a mineral soil substrate and does not accumulate peat. Swamp A wetland dominated by trees or shrubs (US definition). In Europe, a forested fen would easily be called a swamp. In some areas, wetlands dominated by reed grass are also called swamps. Fens A peat-accumulating wetland that receives some

drainage from surrounding mineral soil and usually supports marsh-like vegetation. Bogs A peat-accumulating wetland that has no significant inflows or outflows and supports acidophilic mosses, particularly spaghnum. Peatland A generic term for any wetland that accumulates partly decayed plant matter. Source: Gleick 1993.

WETLANDS CONSERVATION

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Figure 20.1 Latitudinal distribution of natural freshwater wetlands.

Source: Groombridge1992.

they also meet those for both forest and coastal systems (Groombridge 1992), indicating the integral role that wetlands play in the broader ecology of countr ies and regions. Another problem encountered in assessing wetlands is delineation of their boundaries, typically an ecotone between the wetland and either aquatic or ter restr ial habitats (Committee on Characterisation of Wetlands 1995). The human perception of wetlands has always been ambivalent. Misunderstandings over their ecology and functioning lead to their perception as a hazardous wasteland, or an area to be drained for ag r iculture and other arguably more productive land uses (Box 20.2). Historically, wetlands were considered hazardous, marginal waterlogged lands, harbouring disease. Malaria, dengue fever, filiariasis and yellow fever are all tropical diseases associated with wetlands (Dugan 1993). However, local people often respect and understand wetlands as a resource and are dependent on them (Box 20.2), while more recently, others are happy to enjoy them as tourists or in the comfort of their own home via the medium of television. This ambivalence has resulted in conflict and a substantial loss of wetlands due to, e.g. drainage, and degradation of many of the remaining wetlands due to, e.g. pollution or over-abstraction. More recently,

research has begun to show the fundamental role that wetlands play locally, regionally and globally, highlighting the need for geographers to apply knowledge and skills in order to resolve not only environmental problems but also social and economic issues. This requires inputs from historical, physical, environmental and human geographers on an interdisciplinary basis.

WHY ARE WETLANDS IMPORTANT?

Wetlands are one of the most productive ecosystems in the world. Recently, more emphasis has been placed on understanding and valuing wetlands and their functions, and on the need to achieve sustainable management.The conflict over wetlands is in large measure a failing of the current socioeconomic systems to recognise their value. Different ways of categorising wetland functions and values have been put forward (Williams 1990).As a system, the total economic value (TEV) of wetlands has often been underestimated.This TEV includes direct use values of products such as fish and fuelwood and services, such as recreation and transport; indirect use values (or functional values) such as flood control and storm protection provided by e.g. mangroves; option values, which could be discovered in the future; and intrinsic values, the value of the wetland

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Box 20.2 Views of wetlands: past and present Romney Marsh, England, in 1576 was depicted as: ‘evil in winter, grievous in summer and never good’ and of the Fens, England, in 1629: ‘The Air nebulous, grosse and full of rotten harres; the water putred and muddy, yea full of loathsome vermine; the ear th sprung, unfast and boggie’ (Source: William Lambarde, archivist to Elizabeth I, as cited by Purseglove 1988: p. 25).

tribe] poisoned fish in the winter and in the spring before the water in the Marshes began to rise. They used datura which they bought from the local merchants and mixed into pellets with flour and chicken droppings or inserted into freshwater shrimps. The datura stupefied the fish, which rose to the surface and were easily collected.’ —Local exploitation of the marshes of southern Iraq (Source: Thesiger 1964: p. 91).

A contemporary description of the Everglades, Florida, USA included: ‘aquatic flowers, of every variety and hue, are to be seen on every side, in pleasant contrast with the pale green of the sawgrass’ (Source: Smith 1847).

‘The very existence of Dutch wetlands is at stake. The sustainability of wetlands should therefore be the prime ecological research priority’ (Source: Best et al. 1993: pp. 318–19).

An account of the land use of grazing marsh wetlands at Hatfield Chase, England, in the seventeenth century: The region was based on an agricultural economy which incorporated hunting and fishing. Furthermore the agriculture was mainly pastoral…. The main livestock included cattle, sheep and horses, in that order of importance…. The peat fens were grazed and for each village it was usual for such summer grazing to be unstinted. Stock was often brought into the area from other districts…. Many grasslands were flooded from November to May and during this time alluvium (“natural warp”) was deposited, improving fertility. In Epworth Manor the local population was permitted to catch white fish on Wednesdays and Fridays’ (Source: Cory 1985: p. 35).

‘Wetlands are among the world’s most important environmental resources, yet remain some of the least understood and most seriously abused assets…. A major challenge to scientists, economists, decision-makers, managers, users and the conservation community, is to bridge the gap between socio-economics and ecology’ (Source: Maltby 1989: p. 46).

‘These fish, called binni, were barbel…. Madan [a local

‘of its own right’ with its attributes (Barbier et al. 1994). Wetlands have been likened to a sponge and filter (functions), a larder or hardware store (products) and an earthly paradise (attributes). Many wetlands have a number of functions, yield more than one product and can have a range of attributes, hence even among those who recognise their value, there can be competition between those exploiting the different resources (Table 20.1). Table 20.1 A categorisation of the value of wetlands.

‘Over the past ten years there has been a major increase in concern for wetlands worldwide. Several aid agencies now include wetland management among their environmental priorities. The US Treasury has adopted voting standards which instruct the US Executive Directors to the multilateral banks, and the Administrator of USAID, not to support projects which will destroy or degrade wetlands’ (Source: Dugan 1994:p. 11).

THE NATURE OF THE PROBLEM

Historical geographers have described how the value of wetlands has been ignored and have explained how consequently their conservation has received low priority. It is now accepted that wetland loss is a result of natural and man-made causes. For example, natural causes include sealevel rise, drought, hurricanes and other storms, erosion,

WETLANDS CONSERVATION and biotic effects. However, the main cause has been human action, either direct or indirect. The reclamation of wetlands has been an expensive engineering operation that, in the short term, increased the economic value of the wetland area, outweighing the costs of drainage and/or flood alleviation. Equally, dam construction typically causes the loss of wetland habitat due to impoundment of the floodplain. Other human actions directly responsible for the loss and degradation of wetlands have included conversion for aquaculture, mining of wetlands for peat, coal, gravel, phosphate and other mater ials, and groundwater abstraction. Recently, indirect human action has also been recognised as a cause of wetland loss and degradation: discharges of pesticides, herbicides and nutrients; hydrological alterations by canals, roads and other structures; and subsidence due to extraction of groundwater, oil, gas and other minerals have all damaged wetland sites. Historical geographers have described this wetland loss. For example, in Europe, most of the loss occurred before the modern era, largely due to agricultural drainage enterprises, many masterminded by Dutch engineers. This experience and skill was exported not only to countries like England but further afield, for example to the peatlands of Indonesia. The pressure for wetland alteration and

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reclamation is now increasing in the tropics and developing nations. The rate of loss cannot be quantified in most countries but is relatively well documented in the USA (Figure 20.2). The increased perception and recognition of the importance of wetlands at global, regional and local levels has led to a conservation backlash, trying to halt wetland loss and degradation worldwide. The problem f acing applied geographers is first to take stock of the remaining wetland resource and monitor its extent and quality. This should also involve establishing a value for any given wetland in order to ensure that decision making that might impact on it directly or indirectly is soundly based.The various wetland processes must be properly researched, leading to tried and tested management in the form of conservation, restoration and creation. Lastly, the success of this management should be appraised, thereby validating the management and providing useful feedback by way of action research. These various stages can be viewed from different levels: • •

International e.g. the Ramsar convention confers protection on wetland sites of global importance, virtually worldwide (Box 20.3). Regional/national e.g. developing a policy for water resource management in the Mekong basin; the Med-Wet programme financed by the European Union.

Figure 20.2 Percentage of wetland area lost in the USA between the 1780s and 1980s.

Source: Dahl 1991.

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Local e.g. establishing a plan for the sustainable exploitation of the fishery in a given wetland; management plans and conservation objectives for specific sites.

The advent of aerial photography, remote sensing and spatial analysis techniques, such as GIS, are making an important contribution to wetland conservation. For example, wetland boundaries are sometimes delineated through the use of aerial photography as an alternative or complementary tool to field data (National Research Council 1995). Meanwhile, satellite remote-sensing data can help to identify wetland hydrology, particularly useful in the context of developing countries (Haack 1996). In the case of GIS, the analysis of spatial information can be used for the management and study of wetlands, for example by looking at land-use change or water quality data. It helps to set the wetland in its surrounding landscape and human pressures.The application of aerial photography and remote sensing has identified the importance of technology and the need for personnel trained in such methods and with a field knowledge of wetlands (Committee on Characterisation of Wetlands 1995). There is also a need to quantify wetland values, not just over the short term but on into the future. While quantities can be put on certain components of wetlands, for example the weight of fish caught per year, the number of geese overwintering and mass of nitrogen stored in a

given wetland, it is harder to turn these into monetary values as the basis for decision making. This is a current area of research, which has focused on aspects such as: 1

2

3

Evaluating the global and regional role of wetlands.The commercial and environmental value of coastal marsh in Georgia, USA, has been calculated at $50,000–125,000 per hectare, and the ‘life support’ value of saltmarsh (based on the conversion of solar energy) has similarly been put at $212,500 per hectare (Odum, in Maltby 1986). Calculating the value of harvested resources. The market value of the fish caught from a wetland can be calculated for a given year or season, as can the value of any associated industry and employment. Evaluation systems that seek to compare natural wetlands with human economic systems. This approach uses the measure of willingness to pay to achieve monetary value (Mitsch and Gosselink 1993).

Not surprisingly, these different methodologies typically give different values for the same wetland. The lack of consistent and accepted methodologies for comparing wetlands with conventional economic goods and services limits the usefulness of the estimates that have been made, and there is a need for much more research by human geographers and economists.

Box 20.3 The Ramsar Convention (http:/iucn.org/themes/ramsar/) The Convention on Wetlands of International Importance especially as Waterfowl Habitat (usually referred to as the Ramsar Convention after the place of its ratification in Iran in 1971) is one of the most important instruments for conserving wetlands of international importance. This international treaty laid the basis for international cooperation in conserving wetlands and by 1991, more than sixty countries had signed up to the Ramsar Convention. The convention requires the signatories:

4 To designate wetlands as nature reserves.

1 To designate wetlands of international importance for inclusion in a list of so-called Ramsar sites. 2 To maintain the ecological character of their listed Ramsar sites. 3 To organise their planning so as to achieve the wise use of all of the wetlands on their territory.

2

There are more than 500 wetland sites on the Ramsar list covering in excess of 30 million hectares of wetland habitat. To be considered a wetland of international importance, a site must (Source: Gleick 1993: p. 287): 1

3

Suppor t a significant population of waterfowl, threatened species, or peculiar fauna or flora. Be a regionally representative example of a type of wetland or an exemplar of a biological or hydrogeomorphic process. Be physically and administratively capable of benefiting from protection and management measures.

WETLANDS CONSERVATION MANAGEMENT: CONSERVATION, RESTORATION AND CREATION OF WETLANDS

Historical analysis reveals a long relationship between communities and wetlands throughout civilisation. For example: •

•

•

Conflict arose in the seventeenth century over the draining of Hatfield Chase, England, resulting in violence to the Dutch engineers and their workers (Purseglove 1988). The Marsh Arabs of southern Iraq have built up a complete way of life based on wetland conservation (Thesiger 1964); evidence has been found of the restoration of systems that used silt deposited in floodplains that had been destroyed by unusually heavy flooding. Medieval excavations of peat for fuel undertaken in various parts of Europe created what have become important wetland sites, such as the Norfolk Broads (George 1992).

Many traditional societies have developed complex systems to regulate access to resources. These can in many instances provide the basis for multiple use under today’s conditions. Yet where control over all natural resources is vested in agencies of central government, often based hundreds of kilometres away, such locally based management is often severely hampered. In designing and establishing planning and management frameworks for sustainable conservation and use of wetland resources, special care needs to be taken to ensure that these are pursued within an appropriate institutional or government policy (Box 20.4). Only rarely are the main components of a wetland managed in an effectively integrated manner; rather, emphasis tends to be upon maximising benefit from a single product. The critical need today is to recognise the interlinkages and benefits to be obtained from integrated management of resources such as fish, trees, water and wildlife. This introduces a new dimension to wetland conservation, the requirement for integration of institutions such as departments of fisheries, forestry, water resources and tourism.

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Box 20.4 Conversion of natural floodplain to agricultural land, northern Nigeria Despite efforts by the states of Borno, Kano and Bauchi, northern Nigeria, to conserve the natural floodplain of the Hadejia River system, agricultural and economic policies are driving conversion to agricultural land. In response to falling oil prices and the need to save hard currency, the federal government banned all wheat imports from January 1987. At the same time, a 50 per cent subsidy was offered on fertilisers and equipment for wheat cultivation, while the producer price for domestic wheat rose by 1000 per cent between 1986 and 1989. By the 1988–9 growing season in Kano alone, 30,000 ha had been converted for wheat cultivation. While this wheat boom will generate a profit for individual farmers, the benefits will be short-lived. The sandy soils are predicted to degrade rapidly under irrigated wheat cultivation, thus compromising long-term options for rural development in the region. Source: Kimmage1991.

Such integration is required beyond the wetland site itself in the form of planning and management of the catchment or coastal zone within which the wetland lies. For example, productivity in most wetlands depends upon the flow of water and nutrients into them. Consideration should also be given to the downstream benefits of wetland conservation such as flood control and maintenance of water quality, emphasising further the central role that wetlands can play in regulating the hydrological and biogeochemical cycles. In addition to researching into institutional change, human geog raphers need to explore the accompanying need for the development of appropriate policies. National economic and agricultural policies frequently determine the rate at which wetlands are lost. For example, artificially high prices paid for a crop such as winter wheat, available under the Common Agricultural Policy until the early 1990s, made it profitable to drain lowland wet grazing meadows (see also Box 20.4). The rapid rise in demand for land for urban and industrial development generates an economic momentum, which renders invalid many conservation arguments based upon the multiple values of these natural

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systems. Thus, private developers continue to invest in drainage and conversion in the expectation that, even if aquaculture fails, the land is worth more as wasteland for housing than as wetland (see also Box 20.5 for an example of ‘best practice’). The importance of excessive water abstraction for commercial agriculture can be seen in the case of the Tablas de Daimiel wetland, in Spain. Tablas de Daimiel, a national park in central Spain, is one of the few floodplain wetlands remaining in the country (Casado et al. 1992) (Plate 20.1). However, its hydrological and ecological functioning no longer operates as a natural system. Tablas de Daimiel is located in the Spanish central plateau, in the semiarid region of Castille-La Mancha, in the province of Ciudad Real. It was designated a Ramsar site in 1982 and a Special Protection Area (SPA) under the Birds Directive and a candidate special area of conservation (cSAC) under the Habitats Directive. In 1973, it was declared a national park to mitigate plans to drain this area for irrigation. In the same year, the first wells were legalised in the area to irrigate corn and barley, thus substituting traditional, extensive dryland Mediterranean agriculture of olives, vines and wheat.

Tablas de Daimiel National Park has a designated area of 2000 ha, out of a total wetland area of 8600 ha of a very complex endorrheic hydro-geolog ical system. It results from a confluence of surface waters from the Ciguela River (saline water) and the Guadiana River (fresh water), small seasonal streams and groundwater from Aquifer 23, the key hydrological feature in the Upper Guadiana basin (Cirujano et al. 1996; Llamas 1988). During high groundwater levels, the wetland is a groundwater discharge area; during low groundwater levels, it is a groundwater recharge area. From the moment that the park was declared, in 1973, there was an increase from 30,000 irrigated hectares to 130,000 ha in 1989 in the area surrounding the park. It is estimated that the aquifer has renewable resources at an average of 335–400 Mm3/yr, yet the net abstraction for irrigation has been 520–600 Mm3/yr. The groundwater levels over the last thirty years have dropped by as much as a metre a year, compounded by a drought between 1991 and 1995. As a result, from 1984 the park ceased to be

WETLANDS CONSERVATION

•

Plate 20.1 Tablas de Daimiel, July 1998.

the natural overflow of the aquifer and for a period was desiccated except for a small area. The main water source for the park is now the Ciguela River, which implies a higher saline content for the park’s waters. At present, both water quantity and quality are key issues for the conservation of the Tablas. In terms of water quantity, the aquifer was officially declared overexploited. This meant an immediate stop on new water abstractions, the setting up of ‘Aquifer User Communities’ and the preparation of a plan to control water abstractions. This plan identified the short-, medium- and long-term strategy for Tablas de Daimiel Park: •

•

The short-term strategy was based on setting up pumps to pump water directly into the park, approximately 18 Mm3/yr from Aquifer 23. This would allow the flooding of 600 to 1200 ha. However, salinity has affected the efficiency of the pumping stations due to corrosion, and only 400 ha were flooded in the dry summer period. The mid-term strategy included plans to transfer water via the Tagus-Segura transfer, from the Tagus catchment, along 150 km of the Ciguela river bed, to the park. This meant a transfer over three years of 60 Mm 3 (never more than 30 Mm 3/yr) for environmental purposes. However, the Ciguela River is saline, and 20 Mm 3/yr cannot be compared to the aquifer contr ibution before the 1970s of 200 Mm3/yr. Additionally, much of this transfer

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was illegally abstracted by far mers for irrigation. In the first transfer, in 1985, approximately 75 per cent of the water transferred made it to the park, by 1994 the quantity arriving in the park had declined to 40 per cent (Table 20.2). The long-term strategy was centred on the construction of two dams to store 212 Mm3/ yr.These dams would collect water that could be used to flood the park at regular intervals. Yet the estimated external environmental and social costs are very high.

In the case of water quality, progressive water salination of the park is reflected by a slow invasion of halophytic plants, such as Ruppia maritima. Eutrophic water could be the result of diffuse pollution from the use of fertilisers (Montes and Bifani 1993). Surface waters, in view of aquifer overexploitation, are the only lifelines of the park. Yet there are inherent danger s as, for example pollution from alpechines, a waste product of olive production, pesticides and uncontrolled sewage discharges into the Ciguela. At present, none of the strategies directly tackles the reason for overexploitation, i.e. abstractions for irrigation from Aquifer 23 in the perimeter of the park.The only initiative has been a plan to compensate farmers not to irrigate, financed under the European Union’s agrienvironment directive. In 1993 and for a period of five years, until 1997 (now extended to 2003), compensation was paid to farmers to Table 20.2 Water transferred from the Tagus-Segura and received in the Tablas de Daimiel National Park.

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reduce pumping in the area. Yet this programme has not encouraged changes of behaviour or alternatives but rather the same practices, but with less intensity. It is a lost opportunity and goes against the environmental policy principle of ‘pumper/ resource user pays’. To summarise, the Tablas de Daimiel case is an example of unsustainable reg ional development, of short-ter m economic and social development at the expense of long-term environmental damage. Some think that restoration is now impossible; at a recent Ramsar meeting in Seville, consideration was given to removing the Tablas de Daimiel from the Ramsar site list, since it was a ‘dry’ wetland. It appears that slowly all parties involved are realising that the depletion of the aquifer damages all stakeholders. Ironically, climate change may be responsible for three unusually wet years after five years of drought; this rainfall has temporar ily reduced tension (and abstractions) in the area. It has also allowed dialogue to restart, to identify future strategies for achieving sustainable rural development and the survival of the Tablas de Daimiel wetland. This case study illustrates well the problems facing those responsible for the conservation of wetlands into the twenty-first century: • • • •

the prevention of further damage and loss of wetland habitat; conserving remaining wetlands; rehabilitating damaged wetlands; and creating new wetlands.

The challenge to geographers is developing management systems and practices that allow the sustainable use of wetlands. This is increasingly concer ned with the human dimension, for example the socio-economic aspects related to wetlands, reasons why communities are led, through the cur rent economic system which emphasises short-term benefit, and unsustainable management. Also how, on a regional or global scale, wetland functions are affected by policies such as the Common Agricultural Policy or international trade, e.g. of fisheries.

An example of sensitive management is the case of Wicken Fen in England, located in the East Anglian fenland. This fenland covered approximately 3380km 2 in the seventeenth century, of which the southern part, peat-based Black Fens, occupied 1480km 2 (Butlin 1990; Newson 1994). The main attempt to drain the Cambridgeshire fenland was the general drainage of the seventeenth century, which was conducted by Sir Cornelius Vermuyden, a Dutch engineer, in two phases between 1630 and 1653. The investment in the drainage came from the Earl of Bedford and thirteen other ‘adventurers’, who as payment, obtained 38,500 ha of drained land from the local landowners (Williams 1990). This fenland drainage system forms the largest ditch network in Britain. Between 1637 and 1954, there was a reduction in area of the East Anglian fens from 3380 km2 to 10 km2. Wicken Fen1 is one of the oldest nature reserves in Britain, and since 1899 it has been owned and managed by the National Trust as ‘a remnant of a once extensive landscape’ (Gilman 1994: p. 24). Wicken Fen is a Ramsar site, a National Nature Reserve, a Site of Special Scientific Interest and an cSAC, famous mainly as an entomological and botanical reserve, e.g. for the fen violet (Viola persicifolia). It is located approximately 15 km northeast of Cambridge and in the southeastern edge of the fenland basin, in the East Cambridgeshire district.The geology is sedge peat over Gault clay (Rowell 1986). Wicken Fen was a summer dry/winter wet fen during the 1630s and was not intended to be drained sufficiently to be winter dry (Rowell 1986). It had various traditional uses: sedge for thatching, some peat cutting for fuel and ‘litter’ (common reed Phragmites australis and purple moor-grass Molinia caerulea) for animal bedding (Godwin 1978). The underlying clay was used for local brick making (Gilman 1994). Wild crops of reed and sedge are still harvested under the present management, to the benefit of 30,000

Students are advised to visit the Wicken Fen web site on: http:// www.demon.co.uk/ecoln/wicken_fen/ 1

WETLANDS CONSERVATION visitors a year, who can experience the ‘lost landscape’ of the peat fens. The reserve is about 305 ha and consists of four sections: Wicken Sedge Fen; Adventurer’s Fen, St Edmund’s Fen and, only secured in 1992, Priory Farm. The most important section—Wicken Sedge Fen (103 ha) —is bounded by clay banks to the north and west, on the east by the rising land of Wicken Ridge and to the south by a broad, man-made watercourse, Wicken Lode. It stands like a reverse island, three meters above the surrounding farmland (Plate 20.2) and is kept wet by pumping water into it, and through waterproofing around its perimeter (Friday 1997). The main problems for Wicken Fen’s conservation have been, on the one hand, falling water levels and, on the other, encroachment by scrub. There is a hydrological gradient between Wicken Sedge Fen and the farmland to the north and east. This drained, shrunken land due to peat wastage acts like a sponge for the water in the reserve through gravity flow (Purseglove 1988; Friday 1997). ‘Fens would quickly turn into woodland if not continuously wet. Most of Wicken Fen has thus become a wood in the last 50 years’ (Rackham 1986: p. 381). In addition to falling water levels, a compounding factor was ‘lack of management’ in that sedge and reed were not harvested after 1920. However, in 1961 a management plan was drawn up to arrest the fen’s decline and to restore its former habitats.This new management has been based, for example, on

reopening old ditches, excavating new ditches, cutting down trees and reintroducing sedge harvesting. In 1982, the fen violet reappeared—it had last been seen in 1916 (ibid.). In 1942, Eric Ennion wrote Adventurer’s Fen as a requiem to a disappearing landscape, drained as part of the ‘dig for victory campaign’ and requisitioned for cultivation. Now half a century later, and looking forward to the next century ‘the last crops of potatoes, linseed and sugarbeet have been lifted from Priory Farm land and the combined forces of men, machinery and sheep are beginning the transformation of arable black peatland back to fenland’ (Friday 1997: xiii). Therefore, it seems that time is going backwards in this reserve, and agricultural land is being reverted, given back to nature, a true example of wetland restoration.

CONCLUSION

Applied geographical research has a particularly important contr ibution to make to the development of effective programmes for wetland conservation. Actions are being taken to develop and implement conservation programmes such as those undertaken by the Ramsar bureau. However, a first, crucial, step is an increase in the understanding and awareness of the value of wetlands, their rate of loss, and the social and economic impact of these losses.This includes: 1

2

Plate 20.2 Wicken Fen.

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Valuing wetlands. Studies have been undertaken for some wetlands in Europe and North America, with a gradual increase in studies in the tropics.This has increased initial awareness of the importance of wetland ecosystems, but it needs to be expanded, coupled with targeted efforts to increase the capacity of training institutions to provide instruction in wetland evaluation. Quantifying the benefits of wetland conservation. Studies in wetland economics need to go beyond the analysis of wetland value to examine the broader economic impact of wetland conservation and management and,

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in particular, need to demonstrate that carefully designed investments in wetland conser vation can make a significant contribution to local and national economies. Documenting wetland loss. Lessons learned in assessing and analysing wetland loss in countr ies such as the USA can help geographers in other countries to identify the critical data needed to achieve meaningful status reports, an essential foundation for the development of national awareness prog rammes and management and conservation policies.

Future investments in wetland management need to be based on the best possible understanding of the capacity of wetland ecosystems to sustain different forms of use and of the way in which future changes in human population, development policy and climate will impact upon wetland ecosystems.At the same time, lessons from traditional systems of wetland management have much to contribute to modernday management. To meet these needs, five areas of research require special attention. 1

2

Resource analysis. The assessment of the capacity of a wetland to sustain different uses requires analyses of water, soil, flora and fauna, and an understanding of problems such as overgrazing and loss of forest resources. Effective solutions must be based on a good understanding of ecosystem functioning, which of itself necessitates more collaborative research between institutions and between different disciplines. Socio-economic studies. Wetland degradation is often due to mismanagement by rural communities well aware of many of the consequences of their actions but through factors such as poverty obliged to pursue nonsustainable practices. Management needs to be based on socio-economic studies that provide an understanding of the changing rural economy. Similarly, studies of the structures and mechanisms through which resource use is administered should focus on ways to provide incentives to people to manage resources more effectively.

3

4

5

Climate change. Wetland management needs to plan for predicted trends in climate such as an unprecedented and rapid rise in sea level and flooding of many coastal wetland systems, the increase frequency of droughts, and changes in the distribution of species over large parts of the world. Population growth and pressure. Substantial effort needs to be made in examining the impacts of increasing human population upon wetland resources, particularly in developing countries, and in identifying mechanisms that might be used to reduce these impacts. Restoration and creation of wetlands. Many countries have initiated wetland restoration and creation programmes as a response to loss and degradation.The scientific basis for this is at an early stage, and research is needed to assess both the requirements for restoration of specific wetlands and the successes and failures of completed projects.

Applied geographers, with expertise in environmental management and sensitivity to impacts of human and physical processes, are thus well placed to contribute to discussion and practical implications of wetland conservation. GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Finlayson, M. and Moser, M. (eds) (1991) Wetlands. International Waterfowl and Wetlands Research Bureau, Facts of File, Oxford/New York. Documents the status of the world’s major wetlands through a series of well-illustrated wetland directories. Maltby, E. (1986) Waterlogged Wealth. Why Waste the World’s Wet Places? London: Earthscan. Although published in the mid-1980s, this well-illustrated text usefully describes the value of wetlands and the threats against them in what is a very readable style. Williams, M. (ed.) (1990) Wetlands: A Threatened Landscape. Institute of British Geographers Special Publication 25. Oxford: Blackwell. A comprehensive appraisal of the world’s wetlands from both physical and human perspectives

WETLANDS CONSERVATION focusing on the nature of wetlands, the effects of human impacts and strateg ies for their management.

REFERENCES Barbier, B., Burgess, J.C. and Folke, C. (1994) Paradise Lost? The Ecological Economics of Biodiversity. Beijer International Institute for Ecological Economics, The Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, London: Earthscan 116–31. Best, E.P.H., Verhoeven, J.T.A. and Wolff, W.J. (1993) The ecology of the Netherlands’ wetlands: characteristics, threats, prospects and perspectives for ecological research. Hydrobiologia 265, 305–20. Butlin, R.A. (1990) Drainage and land use in the fenlands and fen-edge of northeast Cambridgeshire in the 17th and 18th centuries. In D.Cosgrove and G.Petts (eds) Water, Engineering and Landscape. London: Belhaven, 54–76. Casado, S., Florin, M., Molla, S. and Montes, C. (1992) Current status of Spanish wetlands. In M. Finlayson, T.Hollis and T.Davis (eds) Managing Mediterranean Wetlands and their Birds, Proceedings of an IWRB International Symposium, Grado, Italy, February 1991; Slimbridge: IWRB Special Publication No. 20, 56–8. Cirujano, S., Casado, C., Bernues, M. and Camargo, J.A. (1996) Ecological study of las Tablas de Daimiel National Park (Ciudad Real, Central Spain): differences in water physico-chemistry and vegetation between 1974 and 1989. Biological Conservation 75, 211–15. Committee on Characterisation of Wetlands (1995) Wetlands: Characteristics and Boundaries. National Research Council.Washington: National Academy Press. Cory, V. (1985) Hatfield and Axholme. An Historical Review. Ely: Providence Press. Dahl, T. (1991) Wetland Losses in the United States, 1780s– 1980s. Report to Congress, US Department of the Interior, Fish and Wildlife Service,Washington DC. Dugan, P.J. (ed.) (1993) Wetland Conservation: A Review of Current Issues and Required Action. Gland: International Union for the Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources. Dugan, P.J. (1994) Integrated management of wetlands: a perspective from IUCN’s global programme. In T.Matiza and S.A.Crafter (eds) Wetlands Ecology and Priorities for Conservation in Zimbabwe, Proceedings of a seminar on wetlands ecology and priorities for conservation in Zimbabwe, Harare Kentucky Airport Hotel, 13–15 January 1992, 11–20.

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Friday, J. (ed.) (1997) Wicken Fen: The Making of a Wetland Nature Reserve. Colchester: Harley Books. Gardiner, J. (1994) Paper 5: Pressures on wetlands,Wetlands Management International Conference, 2–3 June. London:The Institution of Civil Engineers, 1–23. George, M. (1992) The Land Use, Ecology and Conservation of Broadland. Chichester: Packard. Gilman, K. (1994) Hydrology and Wetland Conservation. Institute of Hydrology; Chichester:Wiley. Gleick, P.H. (ed.) (1993) Section F.Water and ecosystems. In P.H.Gleick (ed.) Water in Crisis: a Guide to the World’s Fresh Water Resources; Pacific Institute for Studies in Development, Environment and Security; Stockholm Environment Institute; New York: Oxford University Press, 287–320. Godwin, H. (1978) Fenland: Its Ancient Past and Uncertain Future. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Groombridge, B. (ed.) (1992) Global Biodiversity: Status of the Earth’s Living Resources. A report compiled by the World Conservation Monitoring Centre. London: Chapman & Hall. Haack, B. (1996) Monitoring wetland changes with remote sensing: an East African example. Environmental Management 20(3), 411–19. Katerere, D. (1994) Policy, institutional framework and wetlands management in Zimbabwe. In T. Matiza and S.A.Crafter (eds) Wetlands Ecology and Priorities for Conservation in Zimbabwe, proceedings of a seminar on wetlands ecology and priorities for conservation in Zimbabwe, Harare Kentucky Airport Hotel, 13–15 January 1992, 129–36. Kimmage, K. (1991) Small-scale irrigation initiatives in Nigeria: the problems of equity and sustainability. Applied Geography 11, 5–20. Llamas, R. (1988) Conflicts between wetland conservation and groundwater exploitation: two case histories in Spain. Environmental Geology and Water Science 11(3), 241–51. Maltby, E. (1989) Wetland management goals: wise use and conservation. In M.Marchand and H.A.Udo de Haes (eds) The People’s Role in Wetland Management, Reproduktieafdeling Biologie, Leiden University, 46–5. Mitsch,W.J. and Gosselink, J.G. (1993) Wetlands. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold. Montes, C. and Bifani, P. (1993) Spain. In K.Turner and T.Jones (eds) Wetlands: Market and Intervention Failures Four Case Studies, London: Earthscan, 144–95. Newson, M. (1994) Hydrology and the river environment. Oxford: Clarendon. National Research Council (1995) Maps, imaging and modelling in the assessment of wetlands. In NRC (ed.)

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Wetlands: Characteristics and Boundaries, Washington: National Academy Press, 190–206. Purseglove, J. (1988) Taming the Flood. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rackham, O. (1986) Marshes, fens, rivers and the sea. In O.Rackham (ed.) The History of the Countryside: The Classic History of Britain’s Landscape, Flora and Fauna, London: Dent.

Rowell,T.A. (1986) The history of drainage of Wicken Fen, Cambr idgeshire, England, and its relevance to conservation. Biological Conservation 35, 111–42. Smith, B. (1847) Everglades of Florida:Acts, Reports and Other Papers, State and National, Relating to the Everglades of the State of Florida and their Reclamation. Senate Document 89, 62nd Congress. Thesiger,W. (1964) The Marsh Arabs. London: Longman.

21 Land-use conflict at the urban fringe Gordon Clark

INTRODUCTION AND BACKGROUND

What and where is the urban fringe? A precise definition and map are not possible, but generally the urban fringe means those areas just beyond the built-up part of a city, although still close enough to the city to be subject to intense development pressures (for a discussion of definitions, see Bourne and Simmons 1978: pp. 18–41).The fringe is not a line on a map; it is a zone of radially diminishing urban-style activities. It is the existence of a fringe that prevents one being able to distinguish the urban from the rural, since the fringe has features of both. Yet it is more than an amalgam of the two; the fringe is a distinctive place with features of its own. It is, above all, a place of heightened land-use conflict, uncertainty and profit potential, hence its interest to geographers. Arguably every section of every city was once on the fringe of the built-up area at some point in the city’s history—St Martin-in-the-Fields, now in central London, was once precisely that. How land evolved when on the fringe will have left a stamp on the built form of the area that will have endured long after the fringe has been swallowed up by the expanding city. Equally, how a society has dealt with its urban fringes tells us a great deal about how that society works, the values it holds to be important and how these have evolved. The earliest geographical models of cities did not recognise the concept of an urban fringe. The city met the countryside and there was no transition between them, each being distinctive in terms of economic and social structures and culture. This approach was replaced by what

might be called ‘stage’ or ‘gradient’ models. Some of these identified broad categories of area from the urban and peri-urban out to the rural and very rural. Others built on the work of von Thünen and the classic models of urban structure by Burgess and Hoyt (for a review of these models see Johnson 1972; Northam 1975). In these models, a continuous gradient runs from the city centre to the deepest countryside, with an inexorable decline from the former to the latter in land values, profits per unit area, and the density of building and population (Figure 21.1). In these models, the urban fringe is an area where land values rise over time as more productive and intensive land uses replace, for example, agriculture.This is shown in Figure 21.1 by the rise in land values at point UF. A revision of the model by Sinclair (1967) suggested that, although development value rose as one approached the city centre, agricultural value fell because vandalism and the high probability of urban building increasingly reduced farming’s profitabilities towards the city’s edge. The twin themes of ‘urban influence on the countryside’ and ‘the transition from rural to urban’ have inspired much research at the urban fringe by geographers.This has sought to examine urban influence and urban transition as processes. What happened and how did it occur? There were studies at the urban fringe focusing on the intensification of farming, the increase in building, recreational development, and how the land market operates (for reviews see Pacione 1984; Gilg 1985; Mather 1986; Robinson 1990).

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Figure 21.1 Land values around a city and the effect of urban expansion on land values.

the urban fringe’s caravan parks, slums or squatter settlements may be as near as they can afford to get to housing that allows them access to urban jobs. The urban fringe has a distinctive image and its own blend of land uses, issues and problems.

THE NATURE OF THE PROBLEM: WHETHER AND HOW TO MANAGE THE URBAN FRINGE

Much geographical research on urban fringe areas has focused on whether and how to plan for the transition from rural to urban, and the consequences of trying to plan the process. The issue of ‘whether to plan’ focuses attention on free-market cities, where private enterprise is allowed a largely free rein. Los Angeles is a good Notes: B=original bid-rent curve; C=new bid-rent curve after urban expansion; UF=arbitrary point at urban fringe where land values rise from A1 to A2 after urban expansion.

Another strand of research has been concerned with planning at the urban fringe. If the transition from rural to urban is not to be left to the free market, how might public interests be formulated and brought to bear on the development process? What would be the consequences and side-effects of land-use planning on the pace and form of urban growth? Another dimension is to examine the positions taken by pressure groups as they contest the process of development. The urban fringe is not a homogeneous type of area—its land uses and history vary from city to city and culture to culture. Nor is it a wholly unique type of area, since the development pressures faced as open fields are encroached on by the advancing suburbs can also be found in the cores of cities when major sites become available for redevelopment (e.g. former port areas).Yet the edge of the city exerts a particular fascination for so many groups. For the city dweller, it is where they first experience open countryside, farms and nature. For the farmer, the nearness of the city may hinder farming yet offer the prospect of better access to customers and speculative gains by selling land to a housebuilder. For the impoverished rural migrant,

Box 21.1 Los Angeles Los Angeles is the second largest city in the USA (with a statistical area population of 11.4 million), yet it has a population density less than half that of London. Los Angeles has relied on the rapid outward expansion of its suburbs and those of formerly separate cities to create a huge, low-density, car-based metropolitan area. Little weight was given during its outward expansion to factors such as conserving the beauty of the landscape, protecting farmland, providing recreational open space, limiting the physical or population size of the city, protecting the central business district or minimising the cost of providing transport or infrastructure. Land was sold for building wherever willing buyers and sellers could agree terms, sometimes leapfrogging open fields and across jurisdictional boundaries before later development filled in the gaps. In general, strong centralised planning powers at federal or state level were politically unwelcome, and any infringement of the right to develop one’s land as one wished was resisted. In the last twenty years, there have been some moves to ensure a more orderly progression of urban expansion. However, the complexity (by European standards) of local and state government and of planning and regulatory agencies has led to a confusing picture. Power, influence and insider knowledge are key weapons for landowners, authorities, developers and pressure groups alike in the highly negotiable question of where to develop next on the fringe of Los Angeles and hence who will reap the profits. Uncertainty and competition are the key features of the geography of the fringe of Los Angeles. Sources: Marchand 1986; Davis 1990.

LAND-USE CONFLICT AT THE URBAN FRINGE example (see the case study in Box 21.1) and is typical of the kind of urban-fringe management in many US cities. The emphasis remains on the r ight of the individual to profit from the development of his/her land. Open competition for sites is likely to reduce land prices (and hence the cost of development) and to balance the demand for, and supply of, building land. However, the resulting newly formed urban area may lack non-profit activities such as public parks and habitats; it may not economise on land loss from farming; and it may not result in a compact city, because of fragmented built-up areas. The profits from land development will accrue to individuals, and speculative gains and losses may be frequent, since the pattern and timing of development will be hard to predict in detail. Without developing a full planning system, one could attempt to achieve some of these public objectives by, for example, a taxation system that favours retaining land in farming (as in California, Maryland and New York state), the public purchase of development rights (as in Vermont, but an expensive option) and voluntary conservation agreements (as in Wisconsin). If the benefits of the free market are felt to be outweighed by its demerits, the idea of a Britishstyle planning system deserves attention. The key features are that the right to develop land is separated from its ownership, and development rights are vested in the government. A similar result comes from the Dutch system whereby land to be developed must be sold by the original owner to a public agency, which can then sell it to the developer. Either way, the state controls the process and can affect the rate and direction of land transfers.The (British) Town and Country Planning Act 1932 allowed those whose development proposals had been refused by local government to claim compensation for lost income; this effectively nullified the planning process, as the rapid suburbanisation of the 1930s testifies. Equally, one could tax the unearned fortuitous gains made by those selling land for development on the grounds that society should share the financial rewards from land-use changes made possible by society through its planning mechanism. Such a tax may work if it

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has all-party support in parliament; if not, the hope of its repeal may intensify the short-term shortage of development land and inflate land prices even further. State controls make it easier to include ‘uneconomic’ land uses such as public-access woodlands, examples of this being found around London, Amsterdam and Paris. The trade-off is between the greater certainties of the planned development process and the need to regulate the oligopoly of development land that it creates. Clearly a planning system needs a plan, or rather it needs two or more tiers of local, regional and national plans, that sets out what society wants to achieve and what the private land market will not provide. In Britain (see the London case study in Box 21.2), the goals included smaller continuous built-up areas, more compact cities, less loss of far mland and more land for public access. Interestingly, the benefits of compactness (first espoused by the vilification of ‘urban sprawl’ in the 1930s) have been rediscovered by the ‘sustainable city’ ideal in the 1990s (Haughton and Hunter 1994). The success of the plan depended on its credibility. The more exceptions and deviations from the plan, the less credible and effective it would be. The approved London Green Belt was in fact preserved with only minor exceptions.Yet flexibility is also vital. To achieve this without fatally undermining the plan, the inner limit of the Green Belt was initially beyond the then builtup area, so allowing for some further expansion before reaching the Green Belt. Flexibility also came from the use of ‘proposed’ and ‘interim’ green belts. Until these were approved, a more flexible view of development could be taken in these areas. Flexibility also arose from the meaning given to ‘development’.What are the permissible uses of an urban fr inge? Green Belt designation prohibited ‘urban’ developments (e.g. housing and industry) but did not of itself develop positive features of the countr yside. Control over agriculture was limited (although slightly greater than elsewhere in the UK), since farmers could diversify into non-agricultural and recreational activities. In smaller British cities, often without a

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Box 21.2 London London is the largest city in the UK (population 6.7 million in 1991) and, until twenty years ago, one of the largest cities in the world. Was it too big, in area or population? In the interwar period, there was concern over the rapid outward expansion of London’s suburbs, focusing on the loss of farmland and the difficulty of providing public transport for the suburbs. The idea of a green belt was first enacted in 1938, and land was bought to protect open countryside. The Town and Country Planning Act 1947 provided the powers for a circular belt of land roughly 10– 15 kilometres wide, beyond the city, where there was a very strong presumption against development. The Green Belt was both a policy in its own right (stopping London’s expansion) and a component in a wider plan of urban management that also included the redevelopment of slums within London and moving people to new and expanded towns beyond the Green Belt. The Green Belt has survived for fifty years, added to in some places and eroded a little in others. It did not aim to enhance the countryside; that was left to separate policies concerned with conservation and the protection of landscapes. Nor was the exclusion of development absolute; much of the orbital motorway around London (the M25) was built through the Green Belt. Other national planning interests did sometimes take precedence over the green belt function, yet it did successfully stop almost all urban development within its area. The management of the urban fringe around London

green belt, the city edge was the preferred location for space-extensive activities (such as supermarkets), bad neighbours (e.g. abattoirs) and for activities generating traffic (new hospitals or leisure complexes) (see Figure 21.2 and Plate 21.1). The urban-edge location, where public transport might be limited, tended to promote further car usage, while simultaneously the ‘sustainable city’ ideal promoted more compact cities, less fringe development and less use of cars.The case study of Lancaster (Box 21.3) shows these features clearly. The city edge is the first part of the countryside that urban dwellers meet, so there will be conflicts over what city folk would like their most adjacent countryside to be and what the fringe-area residents and landowners want from it. Conflicts may arise over access to farmland for walking, the tipping of rubbish and vandalism. City people may object to some farming practices (e.g. the smell of slurry or traffic from a farm shop). These are not issues unique to the urban fringe, but they are more common and intense there because urban

was characterised by a coordinated hierarchy of regional and local plans, very detailed land-use planning using published criteria, and a system of inquiries and appeals for aggrieved parties. The whole system was staffed by a cadre of professionally trained planners. It was part of a UK system that expressed national ideals about how development should proceed. However, in practice an acceptable compromise had to be found between national needs (e.g. more houses), regional requirements (how many more in the south east), and local priorities (whether to encourage growth in particular localities). This planning system was designed to confine the political system and politicians to issues of policy (e.g. the future of the Green Belt) and to separate them from direct involvement with individual land-use decisions, except within the framework of published plans and criteria or the final adjudication of the most contentious cases. The system created a high degree of certainty about what development would be permitted, confined speculative land purchase to small areas, and established a regulated oligopoly of suppliers of development land. It was inflationary of land and house prices, since it created an artificial shortage of building land. The London Green Belt has become a symbol of the British planning system, and this helped its survival even during the deregulatory and pro-growth period of the 1980s. Sources: Munton 1982; Elson 1986; Simmie 1994.

Figure 21.2 Urban edge land uses, Lancaster.

LAND-USE CONFLICT AT THE URBAN FRINGE

Plate 21.1 New retail site on the edge of Lancaster and Morecambe—a typical car-based land use on the urban fringe.

and rural values and expectations for the accessible countryside come into the sharpest conflict and proximity. The changes in economic activity and social structure on the fringe are usually pervasive, even

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when ‘formal’ urbanisation (such as extensive housebuilding) does not occur. There may be more part-time farming (as farmers take urban work and urban workers buy a farm as a hobby). The use of farmland may reflect the closeness of the city through car boot sales, pick-your-own crops and horse livery. The appearance of the countryside may become important, and there will be pressures from urban people to buy houses (and to have more houses built) in the surrounding towns and villages.This can give rise to the ‘urban village’. Newcomers restore old properties in pseudo-traditional styles and take over village institutions.They may use the village shop less but support the village school against closure. They may be uninterested in the fate of the bus service but keen to oppose the development of employment in the village and new housebuilding. Longer-term residents of the village may be more favourably disposed to these. The two groups

Box 21.3 Lancaster Lancaster is a small city in northwest England with a population of about 50,000, and it is typical of many similarly sized towns. It is growing slowly but without the economic dynamism of a capital city or a boom town. Its direction of expansion is limited by physical and development cost barriers such as a river and a motorway (see Figure 21.2). The expansion of the city has been guided by three principles: • Expansion should be adjacent to the existing built-up area, so avoiding leapfrogging and ribbon development, and minimising the cost of infrastructure (see Plate 21.2). • The urban fringe is an acceptable location (even the ideal one) for activities that are either too land-extensive to fit into a mediaeval urban core (e.g. a university, supermarket and sports centre), or generate a lot of traffic (a hotel and leisure park), or are un-neighbourly land uses for a built-up area (e.g. kennels, a prison and slaughterhouse) or are site-oriented (a water treatment works and microwave towers above the town). • Development densities are fairly high so as to keep the city compact, minimise the loss of farmland and reduce house prices, since land is expensive. The hope of development profits is concentrated on the city edge and inflates land prices there. Some smaller and picturesque villages around Lancaster have been ‘taken over’ by incomers, who work in Lancaster and who oppose further village expansion. Other villages with more mixed populations take a more relaxed view of some types of development.

The map of a small part of eastern Lancaster’s fringe (see Figure 21.2) demonstrates clearly the mixture of public- and private-sector land uses, which are either drawn into the fringe from the countryside or are pushed out to the fringe from the town. Allotments and farms link to the open fields of the countryside, and the country house restaurant has similar resonances. Un-neighbourly land uses (e.g. the abattoir and perhaps the mental hospitals) and space-extensive ones (e.g. the prison) compete for space with activities generating a lot of traffic (e.g. the livestock market and leisure park).

Plate 21.2 Allotments at the edge of Lancaster surrounded by three generations of private housing and a leisure park (right) (see also Figure 21.2).

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(rather simplified here in their views) will contest how the parish or village should evolve (for reviews see Pacione 1984; Champion 1989; Robinson 1990). For larger cities, the pressures may be more focused on major developments such as airports. The rapid growth of air travel has encouraged the building of new airport terminals and runways and even complete new airports. Since airports service metropolitan regions and must be accessible to travellers, employees and suppliers, they should be as near to the city as possible; but noise issues will push them deeper into the countryside.The environmental impact of airports is intense, and their negative effects on openness and quietness are overwhelming. The adjacent residents (probably escapees from the noisy city) are likely to be against such development. It is little surprise that airport proposals have attracted some of the bitterest conflicts at the urban fringe (e.g. Tokyo, London, Frankfurt, Manchester). The rise of environmentalism has intensified the opposition, as environmental groups have formed alliances with local people against airports. Opposition similar to that against airports has also arisen against motorways at the urban fringe and retail and entertainment complexes. Whereas these developments tend to be close to the inner edge of the urban fringe, its outer edge witnesses conflicts over second and holiday homes. Beyond the realm of daily commuting, there may still be urban residential pressures from retired people and the owners of second homes. The retired may be unwelcome, since they reduce the vitality and workforce in the area. On the other hand, they may have the capital to improve their houses (so helping the local building trade) and have the personal interest and free time to revive social and community organisations. Second-home owners may be viewed less favourably. Their sporadic residence in the area may be characterised as exploitative—putting little back into the community and denying a house to a full-time resident. The balance of effects varies geographically—in some areas they may take over derelict houses that no one else wants (as in parts of Spain, Greece and France). In other places, they

may displace people. If the second-home owners and local people are culturally distinct (different social groups or nationalities), then the conflict could expand from resentment to open hostility (as in parts of Sardinia and Wales) (for reviews see Champion 1989; Robinson 1990). So far, this chapter has focused on the fringes of cities in the developed world. Those in the less developed world are no less var ied and interesting (Drakakis-Smith 1980; Gilbert and Gugler 1992). The specific issues are usually rather different, but the principles are the same. The city edge is the place where many of the poorest migrants to the city will arrive from the countryside. Housing and health conditions on the fringe will often be very poor, with a severe lack of infrastructure. Yet the city may offer a better future than the countryside could. Issues of houses flooding and the physical safety of fringe sites are more important than in the developed world. The special conditions of apartheid gave South African cities an unusual structure, with townships at their fringe by law for ideological reasons. Economic forces keep the squatters of Nairobi and Lima in a similarly marginal position. The effects of the lack of a planning system and the way that political groups try to gain advantage from the poverty (and the hope of escaping it) are examined in the Lagos case study (Box 21.4).

CASE STUDIES: THE KEY ISSUES

This section highlights the key issues that this discussion and the case studies have revealed. 1 The way the urban fringe works (in the private and public sectors) reflects the wider economy and society of the country. If nationally individuals’ rights, planning or corruption are prominent features of public life, then they will also be driving forces in how the urban fringe works. 2 Since these national traits will change over time and be more dominant in some areas than others, so the exact characteristics of the

LAND-USE CONFLICT AT THE URBAN FRINGE Box 21.4 Lagos Lagos Is the largest city in sub-Saharan Africa and rapidly growing in population. The 5–6 million people in Lagos state generate 20 per cent of Nigeria’s GNP, and the city has become a magnet for Nigerian and foreign migrants. The city is characterised as thriving, expensive, corrupt, chaotic and exciting. Given its high cost of living, poor inmigrants congregate in slums and squatter settlements (though many fewer of the latter than in Latin American and East African cities), many being on the edge of the city. The way that urban-fringe land is transferred to urban uses mirrors other aspects of Nigerian society. There is a planning system based on the Town and Country Planning Ordinance of 1946, which in turn is based on a UK planning act of 1932, the latter being so ineffective that it was replaced in the UK but still has influence in Nigeria. Planning is very limited, a low national priority and poorly staffed. The Land Use Decree (1978) and the Land Use Act (1980) have not helped (as was hoped) in bringing forward land for development and curtailing land hoarding and speculation. There is a general lack of resources for infrastructure throughout the country but particularly on the fringe, and this has been exacerbated by the devaluation of the Nigerian currency and the shortage of skilled building workers. Hence there is a lack of water supplies, rubbish collection, roads, electricity and drains; overcrowding and ill-health are notable features. There is no national sense of the need to limit the growth of Lagos or to preserve periurban farmland and landscapes. Yet the release of land for housing is not random, since housing the very poor very inadequately can still be a profitable activity. Land release is controlled quite directly by politicians and is marked by clientism and patronage, and by the exchange of money, in which senses it reflects common practice in life and business in Nigeria. Indeed, the hope of development (as much as actual development) consolidates local leaders’ powers. Development tends to be fragmented and ribbon-like along the roads. The rate of development is inadequate to meet the needs of the current urban fringe population, let alone the new in-migrants. There are groups for whom it is in their financial and political interests to ensure that some under-provision at the fringe continues. Source: Piel 1991; Taylor 1993.

5

6 7

3

4

A balance needs to be struck between private rights and public interests in the planning system. How should planning operate and what effects will it have? Are there acceptable and unacceptable uses of the urban fringe? If there are, how do you allocate land uses to meet these judgements? And on what basis do you for m this judgement? What is to be the balance between local and national requirements for the urban fringe? The provision of transport facilities and the level of personal mobility greatly affect the pressures for development at the fringe.

The resolution of these issues will set the parameters within which each city will regulate its fringe. Hence, despite the general principles, every urban fringe will be different and the geographer will have to unravel how each city reached its current state and how it might evolve in the future.

CONCLUSIONS: A PROSPECTIVE VIEW OF USEFUL APPLIED GEOGRAPHICAL RESEARCH

When it comes to land-use conflicts at the urban fringe, how can the geographer be ‘useful’, and what should applied geographical research comprise? The applied geographer has four possible roles, which are not mutually exclusive but are distinct. He/she can be a gatherer of infor mation, an interpreter of situations, a forecaster of events or an advocate for a cause: •

fringe will vary between cities and will not be fully predictable. Who is to profit from land development at the city edge—the landowner, the politician, the state or some combination of these? The answer to this question will influence how the urban fringe evolves. Is the urban fr inge to be contained or managed in a formal public way? If it is, there will have to be some kind of planning system.

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The gatherer of information is the geographer who collects details on, for example, land-use and landscape changes, the evolving social composition of villages, and the rate of migration. Without such spatially referenced detail, informed debate and planning will be impossible. The geographer’s task, perhaps using geographical information systems and survey techniques, is to inform all who are concerned exactly what is happening at the urban fringe.

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•

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The geographer who is an interpreter uses such information to provide an explanation of the processes that are unfolding at the fringe, often basing the inter pretation on a theoretical understanding of issues such as planning and the workings of the political economy. He/she may also evaluate the effectiveness of previous policies. The forecaster uses ex-post evaluation and interpretation of events to forecast either how the situation will evolve or how policy should change in order to achieve a given position in the future that is different from the status quo. The final role, that of advocate, sees the geographer leaving the fairly safe world of the ‘expert’ and becoming an advocate for a particular position in which he/she believes.

Clearly, the skills of the information gatherer, interpreter and forecaster can be turned to good use when combined with political savoir faire to create the effective geographer-advocate. The urban fringe is a dynamic and exciting place in large and small cities in the developed and less developed world.The stakes are high there, and land-use changes are often controversial, not least because their effects will be long-lasting. Consensus on whether and how to manage the urban fringe is as far away as ever. There is plenty of scope for the geographer to do good applied research on the fringes of cities around the world.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Johnson, J.H. (ed.) (1974) Suburban Growth. London: Wiley. Although dated now, this book gives a broad background to urban-fringe issues. Bryant, C.R., Russwurm, L.H. and McLellan,A.G. (1982) The City’s Countryside. Harlow: Longman. Good international coverage with a focus on planning issues. Burtenshaw, D., Bateman, M. and Ashworth, G.J. (1986) The European City. London: David Fulton. Best coverage of European cities, setting the fringe in the context of the whole urban area.

Gilbert, A. and Gugler, J. (1992) Cities, Poverty and Development. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Covers the less developed world and emphasises the ‘buffer’ role of the fringe. Short, J.R. (1996) The Urban Order. Oxford: Blackwell. Less directly on the fringe, but the ideas are readily transferable.

REFERENCES Bourne, L.S. and Simmons, J.W. (1978) Systems of Cities. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Champion, A. (1989) Counterurbanisation. London: Edward Arnold. Davis, M. (1990) City of Quartz. London:Verso. Drakakis-Smith, D. (1980) Urbanisation, Housing and the Development Process. New York: St Martin’s Press. Elson, M. (1986) Green Belts. London: Heinemann. Gilbert, A. and Gugler, J. (1992) Cities, poverty and development. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gilg, A. (1985) An Introduction to Rural Geography. London: Edward Arnold. Haughton, G. and Hunter, C. (1994) Sustainable Cities. London: Jessica Kingsley. Johnson, J.H. (1972) Urban Geography, 2nd edition. Oxford: Pergamon. Marchand, B. (1986) The Emergence of Los Angeles. London: Pion. Mather, A. (1986) Land Use. Harlow: Longman. Munton, R. (1982) London’s Green Belt. London: Allen & Unwin. Northam, R. (1975) Urban Geography. New York:Wiley. Pacione, M. (1984) Rural Geography. London: Harper & Row. Piel, M. (1991) Lagos. London: Belhaven. Robinson, G. (1990) Conflict and change in the countryside. London: Belhaven. Simmie, J. (1994) Planning London. London: UCL Press. Sinclair, R. (1967) Von Thünen and urban sprawl. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 57, 72–87. Taylor, R. (1993) Urban Development in Nigeria. Aldershot: Avebury.

22 Derelict and vacant land Philip Kivell

INTRODUCTION

Derelict land became an obvious fact of life in many older industrial districts of Europe and North America in the economically depressed years of the 1920s and 1930s, but it did not attract systematic attention from geographers and planners until after the Second World War. The pioneering work of Beaver (1946) in Britain drew attention to the economic and environmental consequences of dereliction, as well as to the successes of some early reclamation efforts, in localities such as the Black Country, the northeast of England and South Wales. It was the combination of attention from geographers, the development of new mining and industrial technolog ies, the process of industr ial restructur ing and the establishment of a comprehensive planning system that placed the problem on the post-war political agenda. At first, the problem was connected with heavy manufacturing and mining industries and was largely confined to those localities in which these were located in Britain, Belgium, northern France and Germany, and to related problems of largescale strip-mining in the northeast USA, Poland and Germany. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, with economic growth and new industrial investment, concern for the problems of derelict land remained largely confined to those with specialised professional interests in planning and mining, although comprehensive studies by Oxenham (1966) and Barr (1969), and later by Wallwork (1974), did much to publicise both the

problem and some of its solutions. Gradually, however, large-scale reclamation efforts started, prompted by a concern for economic and environmental improvement, the need for more public open space, technical advances in land reclamation, and the shock of 144 lives lost through the collapse of a coal spoil tip at Aberfan in South Wales in 1966. By the 1980s, the problem had gained more widespread urgency. Industrial change was still at the core of land dereliction as Britain and other early manufacturing nations lost their competitive advantages in the new global markets. A massive restructuring of production capacity followed, prompted by new styles and techniques of manufacturing, widespread mergers and closures, new forms and locations of investment at national and international scales, and new patterns of land use. But it was not just industry that was restructuring and abandoning its old sites; the same process was happening to docks (and the cities that had grown up around them), utilities and power sources, military installations, and public institutions, including hospitals. The land-use requirements of modern society were being transformed. Sometimes individual sites were abandoned (often in a severely damaged state), but in other cases whole localities and communities became effectively redundant. Nowhere was this more marked than in Eastern Europe, where the opening up of borders and the pressing economic reorganisation after 1990 revealed dereliction and contamination on a massive scale created by chemical works, lignite power stations and steel plants in the former East Germany, in the Czech Republic and in the Don basin.

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No longer was dereliction a narrowly defined problem of industrial closures. In effect, the fundamental economic and settlement geographies of the older industrial nations were being recast; the use of, and demand for, land was changing profoundly, and as a consequence derelict, vacant and otherwise waste land was being created in many localities faster than it could be dealt with. Large-scale movements, especially out of the larger cities, left many inner urban areas bereft of investment and with an accumulating record of derelict and vacant land. This was an intrinsic part of the ‘inner city problem’, which, in Britain, was identified as one of the most severe social and planning issues of the era.

THE NATURE AND SCALE OF THE PROBLEM

Problems occur in trying to define the different types of land embraced by this issue. Derelict land in Britain is normally taken to be ‘land so damaged by industrial or other development that it is incapable of beneficial use without treatment’. However, this excludes categories such as land that is ‘naturally derelict’ (e.g neglected farmland and marshes), land that is damaged but subject to restoration conditions, land still in sporadic use, and vacant land. Vacant land is particularly problematical. Although there is no statutory definition, it was clear from the late 1970s onwards that vacant (not necessarily derelict) land was a serious problem in many cities (Civic Trust 1977; Burrows 1978), a theme that was developed by Coleman (1982) and later by Chisholm and Kivell (1987) and Adams et al. (1988) in the context of inner city redevelopment. Subsequently, the related problem of contaminated land became the focus of much concern, and there was some legislative confusion in the early 1990s. In Britain, contaminated land was initially defined in terms of previous uses and activities of a contaminative nature, but this was changed in the Environment Act of 1995 to land that appears to a local authority to be in such a condition—because of substances it contains—

that water pollution or significant harm is being, or is likely to be, caused. ‘Harm’ refers to the health of living organisms and the ecological system of which they form part, to humans and to property. Plans to establish public registers of contaminated land were shelved for fear that this might discourage development of brown-field sites and cause land values to fall. In broad ter ms, derelict, vacant or contaminated land can present some or all of the following problems: •

•

• •

A waste of a valuable resource. Allowing land to remain unused may be both economically and morally unjustifiable, especially where development continues to take place on greenfield sites. An eyesore. Because of its topography and the abandoned installations that often remain, derelict and vacant land is invariably ugly.This in turn can lead to further neglect or misuse. A disincentive to development. Derelict sites blight large areas, deter new investment and degrade the wider environment for local communities. A danger. This can include hidden shafts and voids, flooded pits, unstable tips and a variety of toxins with different levels of toxicity and longevity.

Related to these general issues are many specific problems that may deter or delay the redevelopment of individual sites. These can be summarised as follows: •

•

Land prices. Developers will normally base the price they are willing to bid for a site upon the value of the completed project minus their development costs. Frequently, the price thus calculated is below the price at which a vendor is willing to sell, and sometimes the price is a negative one. Government agencies have applied a variety of subsidies and reclamation grants to encourage development. Cost of reclamation. Technically, most things are possible; land can be reshaped and stabilised, new drains can be laid, shafts can be capped and toxins can be dealt with, but all of these procedures are costly.

DERELICT AND VACANT LAND •

•

•

Ownership. The owners of vacant sites are sometimes reluctant to sell them, and the complexities and fragmentation of land ownership commonly make it difficult to assemble plots for comprehensive redevelopment. Location. Sites may be derelict or vacant because whole industries have collapsed and whole areas have been abandoned. These locations are often in the wrong place for modern investment and fail to convey the correct prestige and place image. Access. Many derelict sites were originally served by canal or railway and are surrounded by dense housing and other development. They do not permit easy access by large road vehicles; nor are they convenient for motorway connections.

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Another important aspect of the problem is to attempt to estimate its scale. In Britain, this is possible through a series of estimates and surveys, but most of the figures have various important shortcomings. Elsewhere, such surveys are non-existent or, as in the case of France, lacking in precision (Couch 1989, Dechosal 1992; see Box 22.1). For contaminated land, the shifting definitions and lack of systematic surveys make quantitative estimates particularly difficult. In Wales, where long-established industries have caused particular problems, one desk study (Environmental Advisory Unit 1984) identified over 700 sites totalling nearly 3800 hectares that were likely to be contaminated. For England, the Department of the Environment suggested to the House of Commons Environmental Select Committee

Box 22.1 Dereliction and reclamation in northeast France Compared with Britain, France has had a different timing of industrial growth and restructuring, a different industrial composition and less pressure upon development land. For these reasons, the problems of dereliction in France were not evident as early, nor were they quite as widespread. However, from the late 1970s, the issue of friches industrielles became more pressing, notably in the smokestack industrial areas of the northeast, and a major report in 1986 (Lacaze 1986) formally drew attention to the issue. The problem was greatest in the Nord-Pas-de-Calais region, which, with only 2.3 per cent of the overall area of France, possessed around 12,000 hectares of dereliction, over half of the estimated national total (Dechosel 1992). The causes of this concentrated dereliction were linked to the decline of older industries, notably coal and steel in the bassin minier around Bethune, Lens, Douai and Valenciennes, and to a lesser extent the textile industry around Lille, Roubaix and Tourcoing. Although concern originally focused upon the usual economic and community issues, there is now fear about pollution of the chalk groundwater resources. Other pockets of dereliction occur, again mainly from industrial decline, in regions including Lorraine and in the vicinity of Lyon and St Etienne. Generally, however, French cities are less affected than their British counterparts. This is due to the different industrial histories alluded to above, but also to differences in housing policies and traditions of urban living, which mean that French cities have retained a greater residential and commercial vitality. In some parts of France, state money and assistance for land purchase and reclamation has been available for many years. An inter-ministerial group for redeveloping coal-mining areas was established in 1972, and much progress has been made through localised bodies such as the Etablissement Public de la Métropole Lorraine, but it was only from the middle of the last decade that

programmes became more general. Between 1984 and 1988, approximately 2 billion francs of public money was allocated to land reclamation, over half of which came from local authorities, mainly in the form of low-cost loans. Where reclamation projects are too large for local authorities to handle on their own, there is a mechanism through the Contrat de Plan whereby the government and region act together. In mining areas, where demand for development land may be modest, reclamation for leisure projects and public open space is common, but in the main cities more elaborate projects are often pursued. In Paris, there are some direct parallels with British urban experience as a range of utilities, industries, railway and dock installations (river and canal) have declined. Over 1000 hectares of ‘derelict’ land has been identified in the Île-de-France region (Chaix 1989), although there have been subsequent reductions. A good example is to be seen in the area of Paris known as La Villette, where a site of 55 hectares, just inside the peripherique, was becoming derelict in the early 1980s with the closure of a complex of canal basins, warehouses, abattoirs and associated facilities. Initially, many of the classic derelict land problems arose (e.g. multiple and confused ownership, poor access, difficult ground conditions, etc.), but an imaginative redevelopment scheme, backed jointly by the city, the state and private investors, quickly rescued the situation. There now exists on this site the largest centre in Europe devoted to popular science and technology. It boasts exhibition halls devoted to science and industry, a programme of displays and games, a park, and a centre devoted to music in the form of teaching, concerts and a museum. A fuller appreciation can be gained by a real or virtual visit (http.// www.cite-sciences.fr/). Not only has this project made imaginative use of a once derelict site but it is also one example of a type of urban planning that has been used to re-image cities across Europe and North America.

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(1990) that 27,000 hectares may be contaminated, although the same committee heard other evidence that suggested a total of 50,000 hectares. In a wider context, estimates placed before the committee implied that approximately 185,000 hectares of land in ten EC member countries were contaminated. In Belgium, geographers have been instrumental in helping to assess the risks and compile inventories of contamination (Miller 1994). In England and Wales, the Environmental Agency has more recently lowered estimates to between 5000 and 20,000 sites likely to need assessment under the regime introduced by the 1995 Environment Act (ENDS 1996). The extent of vacant land is also difficult to quantify, despite the fact that it has been at the heart of urban policy throughout the 1980s and 1990s. From 1980 to 1996, a land register recorded vacant land in the public sector. This revealed that in February 1987, for example, 40,235 hectares of vacant land was held by public sector bodies. Independent analysts suggested that this figure was a gross underestimate and that the real total of vacant and derelict land for England alone might be as high as 210,000 hectares, with between 5 and 10 per cent of land lying vacant in many inner city areas (Chisholm and Kivell 1987). A survey of vacant land in 1990 (DoE 1992) for mally

identified a total of 49,080 hectares but suggested that a truer estimate would be 60,000 hectares in urban districts alone (for comparison, the total area of Bristol is around 11,000 hectares). By the early 1990s, vacancy was being tackled by more aggressive land disposal and development policies pursued by both the public sector and the newly privatised companies. For derelict land, the figures initially look rather more comprehensive and reliable. Local authorities in England have been required to collect information regularly, and the results of surveys carried out in 1974, 1982, 1988 and in 1993, have been published (DoE 1995). For Scotland, the only comparable figures come from a survey of conditions in 1990 (Scottish Office 1992). Accepting the figures from these surveys as the best that are available, it is possible to examine the national pattern of dereliction. In 1993, a total of 39,600 hectares was derelict in England and, from 1990 figures, Scotland possessed a further 8297 hectares. There was an urban bias to the pattern, although in England this was only marginal at 52 per cent compared with the 80 per cent urban share in Scotland (see Plate 22.1) (Kivell and Lockhart 1996). Table 22.1 gives a breakdown of the English total. This indicates that mineral extraction in Plate 22.1 The Scottish Conference and Exhibition Centre and the Moat House Hotel in Glasgow, on former derelict land caused by the closure of Queen’s Dock. Land in the foreground, also previously dock land, has remained derelict since the Glasgow Garden Festival in 1988, although there are currently plans to develop it as a Science Centre using a grant from the Millennium Commission.

DERELICT AND VACANT LAND Table 22.1 Derelict land by type in England, April 1993.

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per cent). Broadly speaking, dereliction caused by mining activity decreased, as a result of reclamation, preventive legislation and improved engineering techniques, but there were increases in the categories of military land (as a result of the ‘peace dividend’), industrial dereliction and ‘other for ms’ (including former landfill sites and commercial and residential premises).

THE REUSE OF DERELICT LAND

Source: DoE 1995.

various forms has caused the largest amount of dereliction, accounting for approximately 40 per cent of the total, a proportion that rises to nearly 55 per cent in Scotland. The second largest category, that of general industrial dereliction, accounts for a further quarter in England. Overall, the distribution of dereliction—Figures 22.1 and 22.2 —reflects Britain’s industrial past. Industrial decay and closure has often been accompanied by a loss of population, a deterioration of housing, a collapse of community confidence and the closure of utilities and services, leading in turn to cumulative processes of dereliction. The local authorities with the highest densities of dereliction were, unsurprisingly, urban: in Newham, Barking and Dagenham, Greenwich, Sandwell, Stoke-onTrent, Salford, Lincoln, Liverpool and Bury, over 4 per cent of the authority’s total area was derelict in 1993. Although individual sites may remain unused for many years, derelict land is not a static phenomenon. New dereliction is created when businesses collapse or activities are abandoned, but at the same time land reclamation and redevelopment removes sites from the record.The problem for Britain has been that the overall stock has remained disappointingly stable. Between the surveys of 1988 and 1993, for example, nearly 9500 hectares of reclamation was offset by 8600 hectares of ‘new’ dereliction, giving a net reduction of just 900 hectares (equivalent to 2.2

Much of the study of derelict, vacant and contaminated land, and the collection of survey infor mation, is designed to encourage its productive reuse and prevent its fur ther occurrence. Most countries in northern Europe have planning policies and financial packages to deal with damaged industrial land (DoE 1989), and most involve a degree of public/private sector collaboration. Germany, for example, has had an active programme since 1979 through the Grundstucksfond-Ruhr, but across the European Union as a whole the procedures are very variable. Despite differences in approach, there are often similarities in the outcome of major restoration schemes across Europe. For example, the Festival Park development of shops, leisure facilities and landscaping undertaken in the late 1980s on a former steel mill site in Stoke-onTrent (Plate 22.2) has a direct, albeit larger, counterpart in the reclamation of the steel mill at Oberhausen in the Ruhr, completed in 1996 to form the Centro development. Similarly, the redevelopment of the London docks has many parallels in the enormous reconstruction of the dockland area along the estuary of the River Tagus in Lisbon. Successive British governments have pursued policies to prevent dereliction occurring, by imposing restoration conditions upon permissions granted for mineral extraction, and to encourage the reclamation of existing dereliction through a regime of grants and subsidies. Limited subsidies have been available to selected local authorities in Britain since the 1950s, but a comprehensive scheme was

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Figure 22.1 Derelict land in England in 1993, by type of dereliction and by county.

Source: DoE 1995.

DERELICT AND VACANT LAND Figure 22.2 The regional distribution of derelict and vacant land in Scotland, 1990.

Source: Scottish Office 1992.

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ENVIRONMENTAL CHANGE AND MANAGEMENT Plate 22.2 A view over Festival Park in Stoke-onTrent. After many years of industrial closures a site of 67 ha was left with a mixture of derelict industrial buildings old mineshafts, tar lagoons and waste deposits. A Garden Festival in 1986 paved the way for the present-day mixed development of retail, office and leisure uses.

established by the Derelict Land Grant in 1982, which was later extended to the private sector. Dur ing the 1980s, finance for reclamation also came from city grants, the Urban Programme and urban development corporations, but in 1997 this was simplified; the Land Reclamation Programme continued under the auspices of English Partnerships, and most other aspects of the urban programme were rolled together into the Single Regeneration Budget. Although the UK was an innovator in dealing with derelict land, its approach to contaminated land has been somewhat slower. The United States, through its Superfund Programme, has been tackling the problem since 1980, and in the Netherlands a comprehensive approach has been applied since 1983. Across the EU, the practice varies widely (Christie and Teeuw 1996). Most countries have registers of contaminated land, and most have laws relating to hazardous waste, water quality or planning that impinges upon contaminated land issues. In Britain, legislation requiring local authorities to identify and remedy contaminated land was not for malised until the 1990 Environmental Protection Act and did not really become operational until modified by section 57 of the

1995 Environment Act. The principles were endorsed by the government in 1997 (DoETR 1997a), although the practicalities are still under review. Even though the total stock of dereliction remains resistantly high, substantial areas have been restored and brought back into productive use. Figures from the 1988 survey showed that between 1982 and 1993 approximately 23,485 hectares was restored in England, over half by local authorities with the help of derelict land grants, with urban development corporations making a substantial contr ibution to the balance. The use to which reclaimed land is put depends upon local need, the location and type of land, the quality of the restoration, and government policy at the time. Original reclamation efforts were largely aimed at environmental improvements in some of the most blighted industrial areas, although in the development-led urban regeneration ethos of the 1980s there was pressure to use reclaimed sites for ‘hard’ end uses, that is housing, industry or commerce. Of the 9485 hectares reclaimed in the period 1988–93, 89 per cent was in productive use on 1 April 1993, with an approximately even split between hard end uses (44 per cent) and ‘soft’ uses (56 per cent), which

DERELICT AND VACANT LAND

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Box 22.2 Birmingham Heartlands The redevelopment in the Birmingham Heartlands area illustrates several themes concerning industrial decline and dereliction, the choice of regeneration policies and the changing patterns of land use and activities of a mainly ‘post-industrial’ form. Situated northeast of Birmingham city centre, and astride the elbow formed by the M6 and the Aston Expressway, the Heartlands district was, by the early 1980s, showing multiple signs of inner city decay. It covered over 950 hectares and embraced 13,000 people in an area of extensive economic, social and environmental disadvantage that had once been at the heart of the West Midland’s industrial economy. Between 1979 and 1989, 10,000 jobs were lost as factories, railway installations, gas, electricity and other utilities either closed or shrank in size. With these closures, the problem of derelict and vacant land increased, reaching a peak of 300 hectares in 1989. Despite severe handicaps, it was clear that the area possessed great potential: it is located in the centre of the country, with a very large surrounding population; it is adjacent to major motorway corridors; and it is close to Birmingham International Airport and to other elements of Birmingham’s contemporary development, such as the National Exhibition Centre. Initially, Birmingham City Council was wary of regenerating the area through an urban development corporation (UDC) similar to those being adopted elsewhere. It was felt that to do so might deter investors

by unduly emphasising the ‘problem’ nature of the area, and it would certainly rob the city council of control over regeneration strategies. Instead, a Heartlands Development Agency was established in 1988 as a partnership between the private sector and Birmingham City Council. This was run as a private company but importantly, and unlike the situation within urban development corporations, the local authority retained planning control. Ambitious plans for the redevelopment of the area were started, and significant progress was made; however, it was realised that there were advantages to be gained from UDC status, particularly in terms of more straightforward decision-making procedures and more generous levels of funding. Accordingly, the Birmingham Heartlands Development Corporation was set up in 1992, although it consciously maintained close links with the city council. The designation of the UDC made available an extra £50 million of government money, as well as additional grants from the European Regional Fund. Over the past ten years, a substantial transformation has been wrought in the area (Figure 22.3). This consists of a number of major projects in which support for the remaining major industries, including Jaguar cars, LDV vehicles, GEC Alsthom’s railway works and the SP and Dunlop Tyre companies has featured prominently, but the plans also acknowledge that the traditional manufacturing character of the area must be complemented by new activities. Land reclamation and redevelopment figure prominently in these Figure 22.3 New developments in Birmingham Heartlands.

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Box 22.2 continued projects. One large example is the reclamation of land alongside the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal to create the Waterlinks Business Village, with 750 new jobs in offices and clean industries. Alongside another of the area’s canals, the Grand Union, 40 hectares of derelict land has been reclaimed to build Bordesley, an urban village with over 1000 houses, a school and other community facilities Other major developments on derelict or vacant land in the area include the development of the Fort Shopping Park and the ‘Star’ site dose to the M6/A38M motorway interchange. This latter site of 14 hectares, previously the location of a power station, has now been reclaimed with the help of a £6.8 million grant from the development corporation and is set to become a leisure and entertainment centre with one of the largest cinema complexes in Europe. A key element in making all these developments possible has been the construction of a new 6 km dual-carriageway spine road through the area. The Birmingham Heartlands Development Corporation

included recreation, public open space and agriculture/forestry.

CONCLUSION AND PROSPECTIVE VIEW

Questions relating to the use and misuse of land are particularly pressing in the United Kingdom in view of the density of the population and the chang ing land-use needs that must be accommodated upon a small surface area. Over the year s, the geographical connections and contributions to this debate have been substantial. An important starting point was the publication of Applied Geography (Stamp 1960), a work that combined the themes of land use and abuse referred to in this chapter, and the present book’s broader theme of applied geography. Geography has contributed greatly to an understanding of the spatial pattern of dereliction and the way in which this relates to contemporary land needs. Not only are there reg ional concentrations of derelict, vacant or contaminated land but there are also marked differences between urban and rural conditions and between inner and outer urban localities. Such land cannot be seen in isolation, for it is clearly one part of a complex

has been involved in many activities, but one of its central and largest concerns has been to bring land and buildings into effective use. In the four financial years 1993/94– 1996/97 it reclaimed more than 115 hectares of land, and the acquisition and reclamation of land have accounted for between half and three-quarters of its budget in most years. In the space of a generation, this par t of Birmingham has been transformed from a mix of traditional manufacturing industries and utilities in decline, through various stages of dereliction and decay to a situation today where new activities and new environments are creating a post-industrial future for the area. It is clear that problems remain: deprivation and social disadvantage have not been entirely overcome; parts of the environment are still unattractive; and the area is most unlikely to provide as many jobs as it did in its heyday, but it is equally clear that a major turnaround has been achieved, and investment is now being attracted back into what was effectively an economic no-go area just ten years ago.

interrelationship between changing economic and social forces and resulting land use patterns. A further point of contact for geographers comes through the role of planners. Many planners started out as geographers (and a few vice versa), and for the most part they speak the same language and use some of the same tools. Many geographers have worked closely with planners and have influenced the formulation of land policy through debate or through commissioned, and highly applied, research. A final point to be noted is the contribution that geographical tools and methods make to an understanding of derelict, vacant and contaminated land. In particular, the techniques of GIS are increasingly providing powerful and flexible ways of collecting, storing and analysing information relating to land quality. The debates about the end use of derelict and vacant land have recently shifted as planners and politicians grapple with the problem of where to accommodate Britain’s projected growth of new housing. Controversial estimates of new housing needs for the next twenty years have recently been raised from 4.25 million to 5 million, a figure that is approximately equivalent to the present housing stock of Greater London, plus Greater Manchester, plus the whole of Wales. There is pressure from

DERELICT AND VACANT LAND many quarters to place as much as possible of this upon reclaimed and vacant land, or ‘brown-field’ sites, in preference to taking green-field sites. In reality, this latter has been happening to a significant degree in recent years. In 1992, half of all new urban development was on land previously used for urban purposes (i.e. recycled land), and a further 8 per cent was on land in urban localities that had not previously been developed (DoETR 1997b). The scope for major increases in this proportion may be limited by the locational mismatch between the concentrations of derelict/ vacant land in the Midlands and north of England and the greater demand for new housing in the south, but it is clear that derelict and vacant land is going to be central to this debate.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

A comprehensive overview of the early years of derelict land study appears in K.Wallwork’s Derelict Land (1974, Newton Abbott: David & Charles). E.M. Bridges, Surveying Derelict Land (1987, Oxford: Clarendon Press), reviewed an interdisciplinary methodology for the assessment of derelict and contaminated land, and Inner City Waste Land by M. Chisholm and P.T.Kivell (1987, London: Institute of Economic Affairs) assessed failures in land development in a way that has renewed relevance for the present debate about land for new housing. The Department of the Environment produced surveys of derelict land in 1974, 1982, 1988 and most recently in 1993, and its report, Assessment of the Effectiveness of Derelict Land Grant (1994, London: HMSO), gives useful details of land reclamation, including a number of case studies. Derelict land in a wider European context was dealt with by a collection of papers in French, mainly by geographers, entitled La Problematique des friches industrielles (1994, Strasbourg: Centre European du Developpement Regional). Up-to-date infor mation, including government press releases, can be found on the World Wide Web. Useful sites are: The Department of the Environment: (http:// www.detr.gov.uk/detrhome.htm)

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The Environment Agency: (http://www.environmentagency.gov.uk/home.html) The European Commission DG XI: (http:// www.europa.eu.int/en/comm/dg11/dg11home.html)

REFERENCES Adams, C.D., Baum, A.E. and MacGregor, B.D. (1988) The availability of land for inner city redevelopment: a case study of Manchester. Urban Studies 25, 62–76. Barr, J. (1969) Derelict Britain. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Beaver, S.H. (1946) Report on Derelict Land in the Black Country. London: Ministry of Town and Country Planning. Burrows, J. (1978) Vacant land—a continuing crisis. The Planner January, 7–9. Chaix, R. (1989) Friches industrielles et réaffectations en Île-de-France, Evolution 1985–1988. Hommes et Terres du Nord 4, 320–24. Chisholm, M. and Kivell, P.T. (1987) Inner City Wasteland. London: Institute of Economic Affairs. Christie, S. and Teeuw, R. (1996) European perspectives on contaminated land. European Environment 6, 85–94. Civic Trust (1977) Urban Wasteland—A Report on Land Lying Dormant in Cities, Towns and Villages in Britain. London. Coleman, A. (1982) Dead space in the dying inner city. International Journal of Environmental Studies 19(2), 103–7. Couch, C. (1989) Vacant and derelict land in France. Land Development Studies 6, 183–99. Dechosel, L. (1992) Land reclamation in France and England. Working Paper No.2, Policy Research Centre, Sheffield Business School. DoE (1989) A Review of Derelict Land Policy. London: HMSO. DoE (1992) The National Survey of Vacant Land in Urban Areas of England, 1990. London: HMSO. DoE (1995) Survey of Derelict Land in England 1993,Volume 1, Report; and Volume 2, Reference Tables, London: HMSO. DoETR (1997a) Contaminated Land Review Completed. Press Release No. 539, 22 December. DoETR (1997b) Land Use Change in England No. 12. Statistical Bulletin. ENDS (1996) MPs urge changes to contaminated land proposals, ENDS Report 263, p. 22. Environmental Advisory Unit (1984) Sur vey of Contaminated Land in Wales. Cardiff.

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House of Commons Environmental Select Committee (1990) First Report on Contaminated Land. House of Commons Paper No. 170 (three volumes), London: HMSO. Kivell, P.T. and Lockhart, D.G. (1996) Derelict and vacant land in Scotland. Scottish Geographical Magazine 112(3), 177–80. Lacaze, J.P. (1986) Les Grandes Friches Industrielles. Paris: DATAR. Miller, J. (1994) La contamination des fr iches industrielles. In La Problematique des Friches Industrielles,

Strasbourg: Centre Européen du Developpement, 139–49. Oxenham, J.R. (1966) Reclaiming Derelict Land. London: Faber & Faber. Scottish Office (1992) Scottish Vacant and Derelict Land Survey, 1990. Edinburgh: Environment Department. Stamp, L.D. (1960) Applied Geography. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Wallwork, K.L. (1974) Derelict Land. Newton Abbot: David & Charles.

23 Sustainable tourism Lesley France

INTRODUCTION who could have foreseen all this three summers ago; when their yachts first dropped anchor here; when the first village houses were bought and converted…the first property acquired and developed? …it is time to weigh anchor again and seek remoter islands and farther shores and pray for another three years reprieve. (Fermor 1983:120)

Originally published in 1966 with reference to the coasts of southern Spain, this graphic description of the spread of Christaller’s (1964) ‘pleasure periphery’ hints at some of the negative impacts of tourism in destination areas. These impacts became more acute and more widespread during the following thirty years and included ecological damage, the loss of traditional values and societies, and the operation of the economically and environmentally disastrous ‘resort cycle’ (Butler 1980; Lane 1990). Essentially, they were an outcome of the post-war growth in the numbers of tourists resulting from increased leisure and paid holidays, greater disposable income, and cheaper and easier travel for many in the urban industrial areas of Northwest Europe and North America (see Box 23.1). Widespread discussion in the 1970s by a range of people from futurologists to academics and church-based groups took place about the negative effects of the ‘unfettered growth in mass tourism’ (Lane 1990). France, Germany and Switzerland led the search for alternative forms of sustainable tourism (defined in the following section) with the economist and sociologist Pierre

Laine, the theologian and holiday psychologist Paul Rieger and Professor Jost Krippendorf (Krippendorf 1987). Academics from a variety of disciplines published tourism studies in the late 1970s and 1980s. This work was drawn from the following fields: anthropology (Smith 1977), which focused on notions of authenticity both in artefacts sold to tourists and in non-material customs such as rituals and dances; sociology (O’Grady 1981), which centred around changes resulting from contacts between hosts and guests e.g. in language, religious practices, prostitution; economics (Vaughan and Long 1982), within which the nature and extent of employment, foreign exchange earnings, linkages with other sectors of the economy and dependency were among the factors considered; ecology (Stroud 1983; Pawson et al. 1984), which examined the effects of air and water pollution and the destruction of flora and fauna; and geography (Pearce 1987; Shaw and Williams 1994), which concentrated on the spatial aspects of tourism activity. Much detailed research was collected on tourism within general texts (Mathieson and Wall 1982; Lea 1988; Pearce 1989). These also often proposed planning and policy measures to alleviate the problems arising from negative tourism impacts. Such measures—such as the imposition of quotas on visitors or cruise ships, land-use planning restrictions, conservation work, employment regulations—tried to establish a viable alternative approach to tourism that is less destructive for the host society, economy and environment yet still provides a satisfying

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Plate 23.1 Torremolinos in the 1950s: Phase 1– Involvement.

Plate 23.2 Torremolinos in about 1990: Phase 3– Stagnation.

SUSTAINABLE TOURISM experience for tourists. Frequently based on natural or cultural resources such as climate, scenery, wildlife, historic monuments, and local customs and ceremonies, the forms of tourism that this approach encouraged are given a variety of labels: green, responsible, alter native, soft (Krippendorf 1987; Wheeller 1991). In practice, they included activities like walking holidays, wildlife safaris and culture-based trips. As part of this movement increased, popular interest in the environment led to the emergence of ecotourism as a major thrust within the field of sustainable tourism development (Cater 1994). There were, however, those (Wheeller 1991) who insisted that alternative tourism of the types described could never fulfil mass demand for tourism, which inevitably involved very large numbers of people. New types of tourism that cater for small numbers can only stand alongside and not replace a more sustainable approach to all forms of tourism (Muller 1994). Perhaps by its nature tourism can never achieve a full measure of sustainability, but it can move towards a lower-impact situation in which more benefit accrues to local people, tourists gain a higher degree of satisfaction and the host environment is less threatened than in more traditional forms of mass tourism (France 1997). These ideas will be explored and possible solutions outlined within the chapter.

SUSTAINABLE DEVELOPMENT TO SUSTAINABLE TOURISM

While sustainable tourism is a pragmatic outcome of the need to respond to the negative effects of the industry in destination areas, as a philosophy it is rooted in sustainable development. The 1987 definition of sustainable development by the World Commission on Environment and Development Report (usually known as the Brundtland Report) is most widely accepted. It states that to be sustainable, development must ‘meet the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their own needs’ (WCED 1987:43).

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Further refinements and a more obvious application to tourism emerged with the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development, held in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, in 1992. In its action plan, Agenda 21, it proposed a number of routes forward to achieve more sustainable development. Although tourism is scarcely mentioned in the documents resulting from the conference, among the issues that are especially appropriate for tourism are those designed to change consumption patterns, combat poverty, provide socio-culturally sensitive and environmentally sound programmes, empower groups and communities, and engender economic benefits. Recognition of the importance of Agenda 21 by those involved in tourism occurred in 1995, when the First World Conference on Sustainable Tourism was held in Lanzarote, the Canary Islands. Discussion here led to the publication of a Charter for Sustainable Tourism and a Plan of Action that formally attempted to apply Agenda 21 to tourism (de Avila 1996). Along with many others, participants at the conference wrestled with definitions of sustainable tourism and with efforts to describe and illustrate examples of good practice.

DEFINITION OF SUSTAINABLE TOURISM AND ASSOCIATED DIFFICULTIES

While much dispute exists about the nature of sustainable tourism, there is general agreement that those characteristics listed in Table 23.1 typify sustainable tourism approaches (Lane 1990; Cater 1994; Muller 1994). Academics, pressure groups and practitioners (Lane 1990; Eber 1992; Elliott 1997) often suggest that any benign and sustainable tourism development should possess as many of these characteristics as possible. Ideally all the actor s—the host community, economy and environment; the tourists; and the industry—should have the same focus and achieve equal satisfaction. Unfortunately, a situation of conflict exists

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Table 23.1 Characteristics of sustainable tourism and approaches to their achievement.

because the aims of these actors are not necessarily the same (Table 23.2), and sustainable tourism is not perceived as a single, uniform phenomenon. Within the industry, issues of cost and the profit motive dominate. The achievement of sustainable tourism is low on its list of priorities other than as a desirable model of ‘political correctness’ or a useful marketing tool.Yet tourism is a market-led industry, dominated by multinational companies that play a powerful role in manipulating

consumer demand. Ultimately, it is that demand, i.e. the tourists themselves, that determines the nature and extent of international tourism activity. Multinational companies provide a mechanism for organising tourism.They transport tourists to their holiday destinations where they ar range accommodation and other services, like visits to attractions. Therefore they have the power to influence, or even dictate, the form of tourism and the size of the industry to host governments and local com munities.

SUSTAINABLE TOURISM

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Table 23.2 Aims and conflicts of actors/interest groups.

It is precisely within these local communities and tourist-receiving nations that the negative effects associated with tourism are most apparent and are at their most acute. Sustainable approaches to tourism are therefore high on the agenda in host areas, where there is least power to generate

them, and are least demanded by consumers and the industry, where control is focused. A further problem lies in a lack of consensus in the definition of sustainable tourism. This arises from varying perceptions of tourism by those involved (see Box 23.2) and goes hand in hand

Box 23.2 Perspectives on tourism There are major difficulties in reconciling the perspectives of various tourism interest groups, as each has its own interpretation of any given situation. A report on all-inclusive resor ts by McNeill (1997) clearly illustrates this problem. On the one hand, a spokeswoman for the pressure group Tourism Concern claimed that ‘all-inclusive resorts deny the local economy the opportunity to become involved in tourism’, while a director of one of the Caribbean’s leading all-inclusive operators countered with the assertion that they employ many local staff, buy ‘huge quantities of food and drink from local farmers’ and ‘alone provide 10 per cent of Jamaica’s foreign currency earnings’. Tour operators believe that such all-inclusives offer the best value for money for holiday makers—an important motive in the

choice of destination and type of holiday (Callaghan et al. 1994)—and therefore in providing tourist satisfaction. Although operators suggest that all-inclusive clients are more likely to spend money on local sightseeing and souvenirs, thereby bringing benefits to the host community, professional tourism experts from the Tourism Society believe that all-inclusive holiday makers may enjoy a convenient and high-quality experience but lose their independence and often fail to venture outside their resort. This conflict of views sheds little light on the real level of sustainability within a sector of the tourism industry that is growing in terms of both the number of establishments and their geographical spread. Sources: Callaghan et al. 1994; McNeill 1997.

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with a changing vision of sustainable approaches (Hjalagar 1996). Acceptable attitudes and activities vary over time and from place to place as a result of fashion, education, the psychology of visitors and the costs of developing more sustainable features. Some for m of compromise is therefore inevitable. Perhaps it is realistic to envisage a spectrum along which the degree of sustainability of each actor can be assessed. The aim for all should be to move from a situation in which damage, conflict and dissatisfaction are high towards a more benign situation with higher benefits and lower costs.

TYPES OF TOURISM AND SUSTAINABILITY

Since it is large-scale traditional mass tourism that has been accused of having so many adverse impacts (Mathieson and Wall 1982; O’Grady 1990), small-scale developments are often used as exemplars for the promotion of sustainable approaches (O’Grady 1990; Bird 1995). However,

more important than scale alone is the capacity of resources to absorb visitor numbers. Blackpool, Torremolinos or Miami Beach can absorb much larger numbers of people than the trekking trails around Mount Everest, the area of outstanding natural beauty in the north Pennines in England, or in a small game park in East Africa, before capacity levels are exceeded and costs begin to outweigh benefits. It is partly a question of the relative resilience of the natural environment and indigenous culture that determines capacity levels and partly a question of the level of crowding that reduces the appeal of a destination to tourists. That appeal also depends on the characteristics of tourists at different types of destination, as well as the physical ability of particular destinations to absorb visitors while still retaining the illusion that relatively few tourists are present. Some types of tourism, superficially at least, reveal more sustainable characteristics than others. This is highlighted in the theoretical contrasts that exist between traditional large-scale mass package tourism and ecotourism (see Table 23.3).

Table 23.3 Theoretical characteristics of mass package tourism and ecotourism.

Sources: Burns and Holden 1995; Cater 1994: Shaw and Williams 1994.

SUSTAINABLE TOURISM Mass tourism—can it become more sustainable?

Traditionally, this type of tourism caters for those who prefer a risk-free environment, often within a familiar setting, where the cultural components have been imported, e.g. language, beer, ‘tea like mother makes’, fish and chips. Such people usually prefer to spend their holiday among large numbers of like-minded companions, who require Englishspeaking guides and hotel staff, and entertainment similar to that found at home. Demands of this nature have often provoked conflict with host communities and environments (among others, see Mathieson and Wall 1982; Pearce 1989). Nevertheless, to some extent this pattern provides a degree of sustainability for the industry and for the market as a whole, although some sectors of the market decline as wealthy and fashionable tourists quickly move away to remoter, less commercial venues as their satisfaction levels fall. A pragmatic acceptance of these changes does not inevitably lead to an abandonment of the search for a more sustainable approach to tourism. The creation of tourist ghettos can satisfy a considerable proportion of existing demand and focus it into areas and resorts whose environment has been degraded in the process and the lives, customs and economy of the local people irrevocably altered. However, concentrating visitors into tourist ghettos does not necessarily involve a continued deterioration of the physical and human environment after the initial changes. Many seaside holiday resorts, like Blackpool and Scarborough, are over 100 years old. Their construction changed the physical environment, but subsequent modifications have led to minimal structural changes. Local authorities, even in ‘notor ious’ resorts like Torremolinos, have attempted to improve the image of the destination by measures such as planting trees, cleaning and upgrading buildings, promenades, street lighting and monuments, removing rubbish, and improving sewerage systems. Many of the resorts of the Spanish Costas, including Torremolinos, have continued to provide a focus for tourists over a long period of

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time. They were developed at an early stage in international mass tourism during the 1960s, when rising incomes, increased leisure time and holidays with pay, technological advances in transport, and a desire to travel fuelled a tourism boom in Europe. In spite of the loss of their fashionable status as the ‘jet set’ visitors—who often create the image of a subsequently popular venue—moved on to new, less frequented destinations, the total numbers of tourists to the Spanish Costas have not fallen substantially. Instead, the nature of the industry there has changed as luxury hotel and restaurant provision has been replaced or outnumbered by lower-class hotels, self-cater ing units, cheap cafes and supermarkets (Barke and France 1996). In a similar way, there is to be a revitalisation of Butlin’s holiday camps in Britain (Walsh 1997), both as a response to changing consumer demand and in an attempt to revive the flagging profits of the company. By providing a focus for holiday demand, these revitalised camps should help to ease pressure on more vulnerable locations elsewhere. Similar ventures, like Center Parcs and a range of theme parks, provide popular shortbreak destinations in areas close to centres of demand. They are also based on robust artificial rather than less resilient natural attractions. The perception of mass tourism solely as a provider of ghettos that focus visitors away from less resilient areas is perhaps a little defeatist. It is possible for this traditional form of tourism to become gradually less destructive and begin to move towards achieving higher levels of sustainability, even in less developed countries.The use of more local food and menus, thereby improving links with local agriculture and encouraging the employment of local chefs, is one step in this direction. As such, it begins to introduce the concept of local participation and empowerment through the increased employment of local people, especially in skilled and managerial positions, which leads to a rise in local ownership and more involvement in decision making. These are examples of ‘green viruses’, which are described by Muller (1994) and illustrated in Box 23.3 in relation to the West Indies. Changes like

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Box 23.3 Green viruses in the Caribbean Local businesses and syndicates own many tourism enterprises, even within the smaller Caribbean Islands. Typical are the local ownership and management of small budget hotels, like the Yellow Bird, which lie along the south coast of Barbados; the dominance of local ownership (70 per cent) in Dominica; hotels on St Lucia, which range from those offered by multinational tour operators, such as the Green Parrot, to the independently marketed Anse la Raye; and Morne Fendue Guesthouse on Grenada, which is praised in widely available guidebooks (Henderson 1994). Local ownership and management extend beyond the accommodation sector into transport and local tour provision on islands like Barbados, Dominica, Grenada and Jamaica. Associated with these positive moves is the increased employment of local people, especially in skilled and managerial positions, on all the islands as education, training and experience have The degree of penetration of local food into the tourism sector, through the increased use of both ingredients and menus, is a further reflection of the rising level and nature of local participation. A decline in imported food has occurred on islands like Barbados (Momsen 1994), where local agriculture has begun to provide a greater proportion of produce in hotels and restaurants. Most of the chicken and pork is reared locally, as are increasing amounts of vegetables and flowers for tourist establishments. The conservation and restoration of attractions for visitors, such as Old San Juan in Puerto Rico; Brimstone Hill on St Kitts; the upgrading of neglected botanical

this, which are incremental in nature, increase the benefits of tourism in host areas. Many of the initiatives are private-sector-driven, although they are often carried out with the approval and/or support of government. Gover nments can also act directly, via mandatory planning and policy measures, to achieve greater levels of sustainability for one or more of the interest groups involved in tourism. Bermuda and Bhutan, for example, have both restricted visitor numbers in order to sustain the industry in the long term and control its nature so as to reap maximum profits while minimising further adverse impacts on local people. Kenya and the USA have imposed visitor quotas to some national parks in order to try to protect the environment, thereby providing a more enjoyable experience for visitors. As an example, the tourist industry in New Zealand clearly illustrates that, although there are

gardens on Nevis; cleaning the sea off Grenada; the creation of a marine park at Montego Bay, Jamaica; demonstrate that links between tourism and the environment can be positive. Conservation and tourism can not only be interdependent—the economic benefits of tourism create a strong motive for the existence of protected areas—but can also provide recreation provision for local people. The latter is one of the aims of the refurbishment of the Salt Pond near Speightstown in Barbados (Stancliffe 1997). Some new construction projects also begin to address environmental issues. The marina development at Port St Charles in Barbados may have transformed the coastline, thereby altering the natural environment, but there have also been attempts here to incorporate a range of measures that should safeguard the area in the future. These include the construction of an efficient sewerage and effluent system to avoid seawater contamination and measures to protect nesting turtles (Miller and Miller 1997). Such efforts are being acknowledged and encouraged. Thirteen hotels have been identified across the Caribbean, from Antigua to Jamaica, by the International Hotels Environment Initiative and the Caribbean Hotel Association as having good environmental practice. This includes such elements as staff training; monitoring energy consumption; waste management; control of hazardous chemicals; links with local communities; keeping buildings in local styles; and purchasing policies (Elliott1997). Sources: Elliott 1997; Henderson 1994; Miller and Miller 1997; Momsen 1994; Weaver 1991.

still problems, such as the size of the market, remoteness from main markets, a poor awareness of existing plans by local people, and noise in remote areas, efforts to date do move towards achieving a greater level of sustainability in an industry vital to the economy. Built around the environment, the range of approaches used attempts to introduce good practice (see Table 23.4). In particular, as elsewhere in the world, planning at national, regional and local levels exists, or is encouraged, alongside experiments with visitor management techniques (Human 1997). Is ecotourism sustainable?

Academics often assume (Mowforth 1993) that alternative types of tourism, like ecotourism, have many sustainable characteristics. It is described as small-scale, carefully planned, locally owned and managed, closely integrated with other sectors of

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Table 23.4 Examples of good tourism practice in New Zealand.

Source: Human 1997.

the economy, such as agriculture, and supporting the indigenous culture and environment. However, ecotour ists are not a single homogeneous group. Table 23.5 illustrates the range of tourist types who consider themselves ecotourists. In practice, once ecotourism, initially involving ‘rough’ or ‘specialist’ types of tourist, begins to emerge in previously remote and underdeveloped areas, these become more widely known and more fashionable, and visitor numbers increase rapidly. Overseas developers move in, and the adverse effects of the industry begin to outweigh its benefits. Negative impacts are quickly apparent because of the relatively fragile nature of the environments in which ecotourism often

Table 23.5 Types of ecotourist.

Source: After Mowforth 1993.

occurs (Hailes 1991). Indeed ecotourism, on occasions, can become a precursor to traditional forms of mass tourism. ‘Smooth’ ecotourists who undertake safaris would typify this situation, in which small-scale expeditions in East Africa during the early post-war period have been replaced in national parks like Masi Mara and Amboseli by package tours run by multinational operators. Such tour ists might be more appropriately described as mass tourists rather than those who seek ecotourism as a variant of alter native tour ism. The large-scale safar i enterprises in which they participate have led to increased damage to the flora and fauna of these national parks (Lea 1988) and have trivialised the

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Box 23.4 Ecotourism in Belize Ecotourism in Belize emerged in the 1980s and 1990s in response to a demand from those living in advanced industrial countries for new and more remote holiday destinations that offered relatively untouched natural environments and cultures. Belize had the resources to fulfil this demand, including a spectacular barrier reef, scenic cays, tropical rain forest, and a Mayan cultural history. During the first phase of development, existing dwellings were often enlarged to provide tourist accommodation. These locally owned and managed establishments added diversity to a healthy fishing economy. However, by the mid-late 1980s, foreign capital was introduced to build resort-style hotels in areas like Ambergris Cay. Tourism growth was dramatic as visitor numbers more than doubled from 1985–1990, and tourism became an important revenue earner. At this stage, a discrepancy began to emerge between the aims and image of tourism as projected by the government, and the reality of the situation on the ground. Official sources promoted the concept of ecotourism, and at the Rio Earth Summit in 1992 Belize was praised for pursuing ‘conservation and therefore ecotourism’ (Godfrey, quoted in Munt and Higinio

society and culture of people like the Maasi (Olerokonga 1992). Similarly, journeys of exploration by travellers in southern Spain, like Laurie Lee (1971) and Penelope Chetwode (1985) in the early 1960s, helped to open up inland Andalusia, where mass operators like Thomson now run coach tours. One of the most striking examples of the way in which a ‘theoretically correct’ ecotourism can become a precursor to a more damag ing, less sustainable yet more fashionable and popular form of ecotourism is that of Belize (see Box 23.4). Nevertheless, examples of long-established, relatively successful forms of ecotourism do exist. One of these, which attracts ‘rough’ and sometimes ‘specialist’ ecotourists, is associated with wilderness holidays in the United States. Small numbers of backpackers travelling on foot or by canoe are allowed into federally owned and protected forest wilderness areas, or the back country in some national parks, on a strict quota system. Quotas are set at levels that avoid damage to the pristine environment and also allow visitors to enjoy an experience of isolation in an untamed wilderness setting, such as parts of Yosemite

1993:13). The government claimed that it was emphasising sustainable tourism through measures such as the establishment of reserves to maintain attractions, e.g. Hoi Chen Marine Reserve, and efforts to encourage the involvement of local communities, e.g. the Community Baboon Sanctuary at Bermudian Landing. Yet in practice there are high levels of foreign ownership, foreign exchange leakages and environmental degradation. Examples include the building of all-inclusive hotels, golf courses and polo fields, which involve loss of income for local people and the creation of structures alien to indigenous culture and society. Three-quarters of the land set aside for these and similar facilities in the early 1990s was to be transferred to foreign developers, although protests delayed this move. Even the Belizean Tourism Industry Association was largely composed of expatriates. These contradictions question whether a truly alternative form of tourism has emerged in Belize, or whether this so-called ecotourism is merely a precursor to more traditional forms of mass tourism activity. Sources: Pearce 1989; Munt and Higinio 1993.

National Park. No facilities are provided within the wilderness areas, although the local population near entry and exit points gain some economic benefit from people who holiday within these areas. However, numbers are too low to swamp such communities, thereby avoiding the perils of negative social and cultural impacts.

CONCLUSION

One of the world’s leading industries, tourism is based on the annual temporary migration of millions of people. Traditionally, they travel from major urban industrial parts of the developed world, where demand is focused, to more peripheral areas of supply. As incomes rise and political affiliations change, so new markets open up, like those in Eastern Europe. The effect of this temporary mig ration upon destinations is substantial and often damaging to the economy, society, culture and environment. This impact can be traumatic, as the popularity of destinations rises and falls in a cyclical manner (Butler 1980, and illustrated in Box 23.1) that is controlled by

SUSTAINABLE TOURISM fashion and by the marketing policies of the multinational companies that dominate the tourism industry. Attempts to reduce negative impacts have led to a search for more sustainable approaches towards tourism. But real-world examples show that, how ever desirable the concept, it is extremely difficult to develop a completely sustainable approach in practice. In addition, the idea of establishing new, sustainable types of tourism to stand alongside, or even replace, more traditional mass forms is unrealistic (Wheeller 1991). Nevertheless, some success has been achieved in gradually introducing a range of more sustainable measures to all types of tourism activity. These should be pursued in order to contain or even reduce damage to host areas, to increase visitor satisfaction and to achieve at least some of the aims of the industry. So the introduction of sustainable approaches is a serious and urgent problem.As an interdisciplinary subject, its resolution will require inputs from a variety of fields of study. Nevertheless, geographers have an important role to play in researching and applying their knowledge and skills to many of the controversial and compelling issues that arise in the pursuit of more sustainable tourism activity. The distillation and application of best practice gathered from a wide variety of locations would be a useful starting point on this quest.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Burns, P.M. and Holden, A. (1995) Tourism. A New Perspective. Hemel Hempstead: Prentice-Hall. A useful survey of tourism, including both its impacts and potential solutions, like sustainable tourism and planning. Cater, E. (1994) Ecotourism in the third world: problems and prospects for sustainability. In E.Cater and G.Lowman (eds) Ecotourism. A Sustainable Option? Chichester: Wiley, 69–86. A thorough survey of ecotourism, with a wide range of case studies. France, L. (ed.) (1997) The Earthscan Reader in Sustainable Tourism. London: Earthscan. An outline

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of sustainable tourism, with a wide-ranging collection of relevant readings. Shaw, G. and Williams, A.M. (1994) Critical Issues in Tourism. A Geographical Perspective. Oxford: Blackwell. A good geographical approach to tourism issues, including impacts and mass tourism. REFERENCES Barke, M. and France, L. (1996) The Costa del Sol. In M.T.Newton (ed.) Tourism in Spain. Critical Issues, Wallingford: CAB International, 265–308. Bird, C. (1995) Communal Land, Communal Problems. In Focus Summer (16), 7–8. Burns, P.M. and Holden, A. (1995) Tourism. A New Perspective. Hemel Hempstead: Prentice-Hall. Butler, R.W. (1980) The concept of a tourist area cycle of evolution: implications for management of resources. Canadian Geographer 24(1), 5–12. Callaghan, P., Long, P. and Robinson, M. (eds) (1994) Travel and Tourism, second edition. Sunderland: Centre for Travel and Tourism, and Business Education Publishers. Cater, E. (1994) Ecotourism in the third world: problems and prospects for sustainability. In E. Cater and G.Lowman (eds) Ecotourism. A Sustainable Option? Chichester:Wiley, 69–86. Chetwode, P. (1985) Two Middle-aged Ladies in Andalusia. London: Century Publishing. Christaller, W. (1964) Some considerations of tourism location in Europe. Papers and Proceedings of Regional Science Association 12, 95–105. de Avila, A.L. (1996) First World Conference on Sustainable Tourism. One Europe Magazine update on Internet: January 24 1996—Patrick. Eber, S. (ed.) (1992) Beyond the Green Horizon. Principles for Sustainable Tourism. A discussion paper commissioned from Tourism Concern by WWF UK, Surrey: WWF UK. Elliott, H. (1997) Hotels pass the green test. The Times Thursday, 5 June, 43. Fermor, P.L. (1983) Roumeli. Travels in Northern Greece. Penguin: Harmondsworth. France, L. (ed.) (1997) The Earthscan Reader in Sustainable Tourism. London: Earthscan. Hailes, J. (1991) Ecotourism: a load of rubbish? The Independent on Sunday 28 April, 39. Henderson, J. (1994) The South-Eastern Caribbean. London: Cadogan.

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Hjalager, A.M. (1996) Tourism and the environment: The innovation connection. The Journal of Sustainable Tourism 4(4), 201–17. Human, B. (1997) Sustainable tour ism in New Zealand. Tourism. The Journal of the Tourism Society 94, Autumn, 14. Krippendorf, J. (1987) The Holiday Makers. Oxford: Butterworth Heinemann. Lane, B. (1990) Sustaining host areas, holiday makers and operators alike. Paper to the Sustainable Tourism Development Conference, Queen Margaret College, November. Lea, J. (1988) Tourism and Development in the Third World. London: Routledge. Lee, L. (1971) As I Walked out one Midsummer Morning. Penguin: Harmondsworth. McNeill, L. (1997) All-in holidays cause upset. The Times Thursday, 28 August, 21. Mathieson, A. and Wall, G. (1982) Tourism. Economic, Physical and Social Impacts. London: Longman. Miller, K. and Miller, S. (1997) The Ins and Outs of Barbados. St James, Barbados: Miller Publishing Co. Momsen, J. (1994) Tourism, gender and development in the Caribbean. In V.Kinnaird and D.Hall (eds) Tourism. A Gender Analysis, Chichester:Wiley, 106–20. Mowforth, M. (1993) In search of an eco-tourist. In Focus Autumn 9, 2–3. Muller, H. (1994) The thorny path to sustainable tourism. Journal of Sustainable Tourism 2(3), 131–6. Munt, I. and Higinio, E. (1993) Belize—eco-tourism gone awry. In Focus Autumn 9, 12–13. O’Grady, R. (1981) Third World Stopover. Geneva: World Council of Churches. O’Grady, R. (ed.) (1990) The Challenge of Tourism. Bangkok: Ecumenical Coalition on Third World Tourism.

Olerokonga, T. (1992) What about the Maasi? In Focus Summer 4, 6–7. Pawson, I.G. et al. (1984) Growth of tourism in Nepal’s Everest region: impact on the physical environment and structure of human settlements. Mountain Research and Development 4(3), 237–46. Pearce, D. (1987) Tourism Today. A Geographical Analysis. Harlow: Longman. Pearce, D. (1989) Tourist Development, second edition Harlow: Longman. Shaw, G. and Williams, A.M. (1994) Critical Issues in Tourism. A Geographical Perspective. Oxford: Blackwell. Smith, V. (ed.) (1977) Hosts and Guests: An Anthropology of Tourism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Squire, S.J. (1996) Literary tourism and sustainable tourism? Promoting Anne of Green Gables in Prince Edward Island. The Journal of Sustainable Tourism 4(3), 119–34. Stancliffe. A. (1995) Agenda 21 and tourism. Unpublished mimeo. Stroud, H.B. (1983) Environmental problems associated with large recreational subdivisions Professional Geographer 35(3), 303–13. Vaughan, R. and Long, J. (1982) Tourism as a generator of employment: a preliminary appraisal of the position in Great Britain. Journal of Travel Research 21(2), 27–31. Walsh, D. (1997) Noddy recruited by Redcoats in £139m Butlin’s revamp. The Times Thursday, 4 September, 10. Weaver, D. (1991) Alternative to mass tour ism in Dominica. Annals of Tourism Research 18, 414–32. Wheeller, B. (1991) Tourism’s troubled times: responsible tourism is not the answer. Tourism Management June 12(2), 91–6. World Commission on Environment and Development (1987) Our Common Future. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

24 Townscape conservation Peter Larkham

A historic city is essentially a product of the time and place of those who shape it and it is also a link between the past, the present and the future. (Ashworth and Tunbridge 1990: p. 28) INTRODUCTION

The urban landscape, or ‘townscape’, in the sense of the cumulative layering in the majority of settlement locations of elements belonging to different historical and cultural periods, is one of the most common human experiences. It is difficult not to perceive, to interpret and to use this richness as important everyday occurrences, whether at the macro-scale of ready visual evidence, or in response to more subtle cues.These are familiar experiences of the majority of the population, certainly of Westernised industrialised countries, and for the occupants of the world’s fastest-growing cities, in the developing world. The production and maintenance of this physical fabric of settlements absorb a large amount of the wealth of the Western world in particular, and have done so for centuries, giving rise to the historic compositeness of the townscape. The landscape of histor ical settlements—most particularly urban ones, but the same is often true of smaller places, even rural villages—has rightly been described as a palimpsest. Strong cases have been made for the social, cultural and psychological significance of the townscape. Many studies have shown the need, in these terms, for the preservation of historical townscapes—at least in outward appearance. Yet this leads to tension and conflict.

For there is also a widespread agreement that settlements must change, or they will stagnate. Adaptation of the townscape is necessary, but this is hard to achieve without some wastage of the investment of previous societies. Urban geographers, in particular, have long investigated these phenomena. Townscape conservation is a rich area of study in applied geography (cf. Conzen 1975). This has led geographers to explore related fields of architectural and urban design; environmental perception and linkages between environment and behaviour; town planning, and in particular the development of related law, guidance and practice; development economics; and social and cultural relations. This is a complex field, defying attempts to simplify theory or practice. Townscapes can be understood, using the approach of urban morphology, as complexes of street patterns, which are extremely conservative, changing very infrequently; plot patterns, rather more subject to change; and building structures, changing yet more frequently. Changes should be understood through identifying and examining the actors (individuals, institutions, corporate bodies, etc.) and processes (particularly planning and legal systems) involved. Together, these ‘people and processes’ represent a microcosm of the society and culture shaping a settlement at any one point. ISSUES IN APPLIED GEOGRAPHY

This perspective can be applied to townscape conservation in a number of ways but has been

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found to be relevant to the inclusivity of disciplines mentioned earlier, to all cultural and national circumstances thus far explored, and to all historical periods. Problems in identifying areas for conservation

The identification of individual buildings or monuments, and of areas, that might merit conservation is a historico-geographical activity, and there are many examples of such work in that literature.Two key problems arise. Areas and their boundaries

The delineation of area boundaries, in particular, draws on geographical concepts of ‘area’, ‘character’, locality/proximity, and identity.Yet, since conservation is a political activity (part of the

planning process at local or national level), actual boundaries and designations do not always correlate to these geographical concepts. The boundary of Bradford’s Little Germany area (Box 24.1), for example, was, for convenience, the new ring road. Townscape conservation is not static; society’s concepts of what it is acceptable to retain, and the values placed upon these monuments and areas, change. In the UK, this can be seen with the acceptance of particular architectural and morphological periods as conservation-worthy, with the consequent foundation of related pressure groups: • • • • •

Ancient Monuments Society (1921) Georgian Group (1937) Victorian Society (1958) Thirties Society (1980) Twentieth Century Society (renaming of Thirties Society) (1992).

Box 24.1 Industrial heritage problems: Little Germany, Bradford, UK Bradford, 13 km west of Leeds, is an industrial city suffering from economic decline, a problem clearly visible in the physical fabric of older quarters of the city centre. The industrialising of the woollen industry in the nineteenth century demanded large new warehouses, many of which were built close together on an 8 ha site adjoining the town centre between 1860 and 1874: with the strong German connection, this district became known as ‘Little Germany’ (Figure 24.1). A comprehensive redevelopment scheme began in the city centre from the late 1950s through to the 1970s, although several key late nineteenth-century public buildings were retained. This scheme did not encroach upon Little Germany, although it, together with vague plans for an inner ring road, blighted part of the area. The main perceived threat to the area was from commercial developers purchasing buildings and demolishing them to provide surface-level car parks— future development sites. The changing nature of the textile industry, and the decline of manufacturing industry in general in this part of the country in the late twentieth century, led to the redundancy of many of these large, bricks and stone-built, five- or six-storey buildings. No suitably extensive uses were available, and the area became run-down and neglected. Yet it is well positioned, immediately adjoining the city centre, although the recent completion of the inner ring road has isolated Little Germany from other quarters of the industrial town. Conservation area designation, and the collapse of the property market in 1973, helped to ward off threats from commercial developers. The area was designated

as ‘outstanding’ in the mid-1970s, which allowed applications for grant aid from central government. The local planning authority (LPA) was then concerned to retain the confidence of the remaining occupiers and to prevent further neglect and demolition. By the early 1980s, fifty-five of the eighty-eight buildings in the area had been listed: England’s highest concentration of protected Victorian industrial structures. By the same time, however, about 50 per cent of Little Germany’s floor area was vacant—although most buildings were in use as the vacant space was concentrated into the largest buildings. In March 1982, much of Little Germany was declared a commercial improvement area to improve the appearance of old industrial and commercial properties in the inner cities for those who work, live, visit and pass through them…to help improve the image of the city and district’. In 1985, the LPA and the English Tourist Board felt that a more pro-active approach, going further than traditional physical planning, was needed. They commissioned URBED to produce a strategic direction for the revitalisation of Little Germany. A new public open space was created in Festival Square, and a Little Germany Festival was inaugurated in 1986. Further initiatives in the late 1980s included a considerable extension of the environmental improvements, particularly to pavement and street surfaces, and including new street furniture. Central government grant aid for the repair and restoration of various properties was offered: the LPA’s commercial improvement area and sites and premises schemes both

TOWNSCAPE CONSERVATION 335 gave priority to Little Germany in this period. In 1989, the Council accepted that Little Germany had become ‘a major asset in the marketing and presentation of the district’. However, having encouraged private sector involvement through grants and carrying out environmental works, and having completed several key projects, the LPA reassessed its priorities and decided to complete existing commitments to public works but to withdraw from further high-profile activities in the longer term to encourage the area’s selfsufficiency. This case shows several features, principally revolving around problems of large concentrations of industrial heritage buildings in a small area; of the need for large grants to make conversions financially viable; and of the competing demands for limited public funding. Stone cleaning and paving improvements changed the area’s appearance; although there were some public protests that the very process of cleaning had ‘removed some of the city’s industrial heritage’. Some of the early work in regenerating confidence, particularly by the local business association, had little impact as companies

tended to look after their own interests, particularly in the recession of the late 1980s and 1990s. Property speculation, forcing prices up and encouraging site acquisition for financial investment reasons rather than refurbishment and reuse, also had an adverse impact. Although it is recognised that regeneration work in this area has not been completed, attention and finance has moved elsewhere in the city. New government grant regimes are targeted elsewhere, as is English Heritage’s partnership scheme for conservation area finance. Nevertheless, the injection of significant amounts of public money into this area over a decade has led directly to visible improvements to buildings and streets; and to increased occupancy rates by a diversity of new commercial and residential owners and tenants. The area is marketed as part of the city’s heritage and has its own cultural attractions. Note: This case was researched for the EU Compendium of Spatial Planning Systems and draws heavily on unpublished material from Bradford MBC and English Heritage. See also Falk (1993) and Tiesdell et al. (1996).

Figure 24.1 Little Germany conservation area, Bradford.

Source : Redrawn from information supplied by Bradford Metropolitan Borough Council.

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The types of area seen as suitable for designation have also changed over time. Originally, most societies concentrated on historic (i.e. mediaeval and earlier) town centres. Industrial areas became recognised following the rising academic and lay interest in industrial archaeology and architecture; and the much larger scale of industrial buildings and areas brings new problems for the funding of townscape conservation and the finding of new uses for redundant structures (Box 24.1). Suburbs are now increasingly popular designations in both the UK and USA; Ames (1999) relates this development to the change of direction in architectural history away from elite or ‘high’ styles towards ver nacular architecture. But conservation of such familiar townscapes causes much controversy (Plate 24.1). The geographical and temporal patterns of conser vation area designations, and their potential causes, from national-level statute and government advice to local politics and events, can be reviewed (Larkham 1996). Knowing the trends in the types of area being designated is also useful. More, however, needs to be done on the social, economic and physical impacts of designation (cf. Gale 1991).

Plate 24.1 Inter-war speculative semi-detached suburbia conserved: Hall Green, Birmingham, designated in 1988 and featured in The Times.

Character

An endur ing element within townscape conservation is consideration of the ‘character’ of the area to be conserved (see Plate 24.2). In the UK, this is enshrined in the statutory definition of the conservation area as one ‘of special historical or architectural interest, the character or appearance of which it is desirable to preserve or enhance’ (1967 Civic Amenities Act). This wording is significant in explicitly separating ‘character’ from simple ‘appearance’. The examination of ‘character’ lends itself to geographical approaches. Straightforward issues of physical form may be examined, for example using the tools and concepts of urban morphology. Other relevant factors include the history and development of the area, which might in part be revealed through morphological analysis, and its past, present and future uses. The relevance of use and activity patter ns should not be underestimated: increasing car dependence and the need for on- and off-street parking has affected the character of many suburban conservation areas, and Ludlow has changed with the conversion of many Georgian town houses to antique retailing for the tourist trade. The change over time has been demonstrated by Buswell (1984) in Newcastle upon Tyne, as central business and retail functions move away from the preserved historic core: if other functions with equal investment powers do not replace them, then the core will decay, notwithstanding the conservation designation. Box 24.2 gives current UK government guidance on area character. But the problem with traditional investigations of character is twofold: first that, in many countries, planning authorities were unsystematic in their investigations and, in many cases, simply made designations without appropriate prior investigations. This may lead to problems in subsequent planning and management. Only within the last decade in the UK has the need for suitably detailed character assessment become accepted. Second, the traditional methods of description implied ‘that character can be identified, even perhaps measured

TOWNSCAPE CONSERVATION 337 Plate 24.2 Bamberg, Germany: market square. Character relates as much to uses as to physical form. Here, the lively market use and the complete built form of the square draw attention away from the unsympathetic Herte shopfront (left).

and quantified; and that whatever constitutes character is readily identifiable to, and agreed by, different groups in society’ (Larkham and Jones 1993: p. 399). Environmental and behavioural psychology shows that different groups in society have very different reactions to familiar and historic townscapes. In reviewing this literature, Hubbard (1993) examines the dangers of basing

conservation purely on architectural and/ or historical criteria, since such approaches largely ignore the key role that townscapes play in maintaining cultural identities. The challenge, then, is to integrate ‘traditional’ histor icogeographical approaches to area character with explorations of users’ and residents’ perceptions, and with culture.

Box 24.2 Defining ‘character’ as applied to UK conservation areas: extract from current guidance The distinctiveness of a place may come from much more than its appearance. It may draw on other senses and experiences, such as sounds, smells, local environmental conditions or historical associations, for example those connected with particular crafts or famous people. The qualities of a place might change from daytime to night. Such elements of character can be identified, but not directly protected or controlled. By defining and protecting the tangible, such as buildings and the spaces formed between them (streets, squares, paths, yards, and gardens), the activities and uses that make up the special character of a place can be sustained. Effective physical conservation measures should be rooted in firm land use policies in an adopted development plan. Most of the buildings in a conservation area will help to shape its character in one way or another. The extent to which their contribution is a positive one depends not just on their public face, but on their integrity as historic structures and the impact they have in three dimensions

perhaps in an interesting roofscape or skyline. Back elevations can be important, as can side views from alleys and yards. In a large conservation area, or one where its development spans a considerable period, the character may vary greatly within its boundary. For example, a small market town may have a medieval core, focused on a market place or church, then a Georgian phase of development of grander houses and formal streets, followed by the railway, and eventually by modern housing at the edges and on gap sites. Where the character is composite in this way and the phases of growth are clear, it will often be worth analysing them separately. Elsewhere, rebuilding may have taken place many times over the same sites, resulting in overlays of building forms which are often contained within an ancient framework. The richness of an area today may thereby reflect the build-up of successive historic periods. (English Heritage 1997: pp. 2–3; Relevance to the approach of urban morphology is evident)

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Capacity

‘The fundamental planning problem facing historic cities is the tension between the need to conserve the physical fabric of the city (both its core and its setting) and the demands of the activities currently taking place within it or attracted to it’ (Ove Arup et al. 1994: p. 6). How much capacity for continued growth do historic centres have, particularly in the face of continued pressures for business and retail use in the central business district (CBD), suburban expansion and intensification, and recreation and tourism—and all of the transport needs that such uses generate? Pioneering research in Chester (ibid.: p. 14) has developed a methodology to explore these issues for historic centres. It explores the concept of ‘carrying capacity’ in terms of • • •

physical capacity, the amount of space available for an activity; ecological capacity: the ability of the space to absorb the uses; and perceptual (or behavioural) capacity: estimates of capacity in terms of personal satisfaction.

The approach first car r ies out a range of quantitative technical assessments of key indicators, including emission levels, traffic flows, noise levels and pedestrian density, and comparing them to tolerance thresholds. Second, a range of perception studies of local residents and organisations, using a variety of techniques, gains qualitative data on what is liked or not liked about the city. Combining both approaches produces a capacity framework. This may then be tested against a range of scenarios showing the different long-term ways in which the city could develop and function, resulting in planning and management guidelines. However, as Strange (1997) concludes, despite widespread interest the Chester example is the only such study to date; and the wider applicability of the capacity concept, and its use in generating sustainable development policies, is not yet completely clear. A closely related theme, developed more in the USA, is that of ‘growth management’. State and local ordinances may stipulate that settlements

identify ‘urban growth boundaries’, outside which no new urban development is permitted. Not only does this help to protect ‘the wider historic landscape’ from continued sprawl and ‘edge cities’, but this tactic concentrates the tax dollar within the city and thus permits expenditure on more traditional preservationist concerns. Culture and conflict

Culture is central to issues of conservation and heritage. Cultural processes through time produce the urban landscapes that we choose to conserve—itself a cultural phenomenon. In this sense, townscape conservation reflects many of the concerns of contemporary cultural geography in that culture is seen as a major, rather than residual, factor in social (especially urban) life; and at issue is the nature of relationships between the cultural, economic and political processes leading to the production, use, representation and modification of townscapes. But one key problem is that cultures change through time: war, conquest, disease, exploitation, as well as periods of rapid cultural evolution such as the Industr ial Revolution, are difficult at the time and result in a range of heritages and heritage choices. If ‘history is written by the victor’ then so, too, is heritage selected by and interpreted for the victor, conqueror, exploiter or survivor. Box 24.3 examines conservation in a post-colonial city, where there was much scope for conflict in the selection and inter pretation of her itage— although, in the event, these conflicts have been minimised. Townscape conservation and perception

Too often, ‘arguments for the social, psychological and aesthetic significance of the conserved townscape are taken for granted and rarely addressed in any explicit manner…. As such, conservation policy is shackled by the stigma of subjectivity and is open to accusations of elitism’ (Hubbard 1993: p. 361). Studies of those who actively participate in conservation, through membership of organisations of activities,

TOWNSCAPE CONSERVATION 339 Box 24.3 Colonial heritage problems in Stone Town, Zanzibar The city of Zanzibar has a complex urban form resulting from an extreme diversity of cultural origins. Early wooden shelters on irregular plots were replaced by coral limestone houses after Sultan Seyyid Said moved his administrative headquarters here in 1832. A range of imposing public and private buildings were constructed as the town grew on the fruits of the slave trade, together with trade in gold, ivory and spices, in the nineteenth century (Figure 24.2). The major cultural influences were Arab, Indian traders, Europeans and particularly the British following the closure of the slave market in 1873. The native Swahili and mixed-blood islanders, together with descendants of African slaves, were hardly represented in the Stone Town but occupied the neighbouring Ngambo district. Thus the Old Town

contained no relics of the Swahili culture. An African revolution in 1964 overthrew the sultan and resulted in the flight of the Arab and Indian population, severe economic decline, and the abandonment and decay of many of the Stone Town’s buildings. Some were confiscated by the new government and used to rehouse people from the temporary slum buildings of the Ngambo. But this increased population density had neither the skills to maintain stone buildings nor the money to hire those skills; the government was also unable to invest in the area. Buildings collapsed as joists rotted. Despite their cultural and colonial overtones, some of the public buildings were occupied by the new administration. After fifteen years, the government became concerned at Figure 24.2 Zanzibar, showing key conserved buildings in black.

Source: McQuillan 1990, figure 18.3

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Box 24.3 continued the loss of housing stock and, with some United Nations support, decided to halt the collapse of housing, revitalize the local economy and so preserve the urban patrimony of the Stone Town as a testament to the diverse origins of the population of Zanzibar, notwithstanding the recent painful memories which many of the structures evoked. (McQuillan 1990: p. 405) Only six structures—all public buildings—had been protected in 1979. Concerted preservation action was, in practice, almost a by-product of solutions to the housing problem. The collapse of ill-maintained property was seen as a needless waste of resources; the United Nations’ involvement arose from concern (outside Zanzibar itself) over the loss of one of the most distinctive urban heritages in sub-Saharan Africa. A comprehensive redevelopment plan, with the creation of a historic district and an independent authority responsible for preservation and rehabilitation, was devised (LaNier and McQuillan 1983). As part of its innovative mixture of preservation and housing improvement, residents of government-owned buildings in danger of collapse could purchase them for a small sum (approximately 25 per cent of market value), provided that the property was renovated to agreed standards specific to each building within two years of purchase. By 1990, over 100 buildings had been transferred; the government had been relieved of the problems of tenancy and maintenance, and had derived some income, which was directed into repair of other historic property.

overwhelmingly show them to be the wealthy, articulate, educated, middle classes (e.g. Lowe and Goyder 1983). They, of course, work for a particular selection of conservation, particularly in the third world and former colonies, where, until the last decade or two, it has been relatively rare to see townscapes of, or the contribution of, the indigenous population preserved. Their view has been that the indigents were not civilised, not urbanised—or not there. They have particular perceptions of what should be conserved, and how. For the most part, among the active elite or the passive majority (who nevertheless consume commodified heritage), there is support for the past, for the qualities of past places, and for their replication in conserved modern townscapes. But, as Hubbard (1993) again reminds us, different groups in society do have different values and attitudes, and these can be revealed with

However, funding is a major problem, and overseas aid has been responsible for major support to restore landmark buildings: with grants of $400,000 from the United Nations Development Programme and $600,000 from the European Community (McQuillan 1990: p. 411). The rate of building collapse has declined dramatically, and in 1988 the Stone Town was officially designated as a conservation area. Despite this apparent success, Marks (1996) shows significant contradictions and ambiguities, not least that tourism (and the need for tourist-generated overseas income) can ‘simultaneously preserve individual notable buildings while destroying many of the town’s fragile social and cultural networks and much of the urban fabric they inhabit…resulting in sporadic gentrification of the Stone Town and marginalisation of the poor’. Thus the restoration of individual buildings and public spaces has sanitised the past, with the vision being that of a ‘white-washed paradise…a caricature of Zanzibar culture’ where there is no space for informal trade. ‘Privately and publicly owned “monuments” …are rehabilitated into a series of tourist preserves, where a reified notion of “tradition” and “culture” is put on display’ (Marks 1990: p. 274). Informal and illegal encroachments upon public and private land increase as the demand for space rises, sanctioned by some high-level politicians. The character and appearance of the Stone Town are changing significantly and quickly. Source: LaNier and McQuillan 1983; McQuillan 1990; Marks 1996.

sufficiently sensitive techniques. Education and age appear to be significant variables, and there is a distinct gap between built environment professionals and the lay public—for example in the attitude towards historical authenticity, as reflected in façadism and pastiche replication. Strange (1997) argues that the public are sensitive to authenticity, perceive losses to the nonrenewable conserved townscape resource, and would not choose to visit a replication: arguably, the popularity of the National Trust’s Uppark House, rebuilt after its 1989 fire, may disprove this. Conservation and remaking places

Heritage has become increasingly used in the marketing of products and, especially relevant in the current context, places (see Plate 24.3). Both case studies illustrate this use, in widely differing

TOWNSCAPE CONSERVATION 341 CONCLUSION

Plate 24.3 Lód’z, Poland. Main street pedestrianised in 1993. Removal of original surfaces and tramway, new street furniture. Place marketing here is drawing away from the ‘heritage’ feel.

cultures and locations. Heritage images are widely used in place promotion, even for places with a short, or contested, history; and a sub-set of ‘tour ist-histor ic’ cities has been identified (Ashworth and Tunbridge 1990). Regeneration efforts in a wide range of neglected urban quarters across the world have used heritage as a key component of the place-marketing and revitalisation strategies, and this can clearly be seen in Bradford’s Little Germany, Birmingham’s jewellery quarter (see Box 24.1;Tiesdell et al. 1996) and Cape Town’s waterfront district.Yet criticism surrounds the selectivity of the heritage, which excludes aspects of local her itage deemed ‘unsalable’ to tourists or investors (Kearns and Philo 1993), and its sanitization, for example in pseudo-histor icist street fur niture and enhancement schemes (Booth 1993). But such is the competitive nature of contemporary placemarketing that such questioning is seen as unwelcome, even traitorous. In the UK and other Western countries, deindustrialisation has led to a growing reliance on service sector industries, of which heritage tourism is very significant. In many countries in the developing world, heritage tourism is also a great supporter of the economy; but while the first world commodifies its heritage, often for internal consumption, the third world relies on producing attractions for overseas tourists.

In his early study of townscape conservation as applied geog raphy, Conzen (1975: p. 83) concluded by asking three questions: ‘What is the social purpose of conservation? What are the dangers threatening the conservation of historical townscapes in Europe? What is the general nature of conservation?’ All three of these questions are now much better understood through the great volume of work published since that date—much of it undertaken by geographers, and much of it closely connected with the evolving concerns of the discipline of geography. Nevertheless, there is still an evident lack of a widely accepted ethic or philosophy of townscape conservation, and this is a key area for future development. Much more is known of the history and development of conservation thought, legislation and practice (for example, see Delafons (1997) for an insider’s view of the UK system). Quantitative information on numbers and types of preserved monuments and areas is being supplemented by qualitative data on perceptions, reactions and uses. Most tellingly, the concept of ‘conservation’, having developed from ‘preservation’, has itself now developed into ‘heritage’ (Ashworth 1994). Studies have suggested that, although the heritage concept could be argued to have popularised conservation, its ideologies have clearly restricted choice and freedom. The power of heritage selection and promotion is vested in powerful elites, whether multinational corporations or municipal authorities. Little effective consultation with local groups takes place. The commodification of heritage is a further part of the impact of the capitalist system on the built environment. Where next? First, developments in technology continue apace and may be harnessed in the study of the conserved townscape. For example, recent developments using GIS and computer analysis have considerably assisted the ‘layer ing’, representation and analysis of such morphological, historical and archaeological data (Koster 1998). Second, cultural issues of conservation and her itage are likely to become even more

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significant, particularly involving groups dispossessed of their heritage, marginalised in heritage planning, or otherwise involved in dissonant or contested heritage problems. Third, a development of the previous point, conservation of places ‘in the periphery’, outside the North Atlantic axis, where most work of the last two decades has focused, will become more prominent (cf. Shaw and Jones 1997). Fourth, conservation worldwide will become more sharply focused on the issues of resource efficiency, g rowth management and capacity. In short, these are elements of what has become the contemporary key word in planning, ‘sustainability’. Awareness of finite world resources, and the implications for continued unfettered development, will impinge upon conservationist concerns, and not always to the good.The ‘compact city’ concept, for example, may mean large-scale urban redevelopment at much higher densities in order to both minimise resources wasted in travel and productive land occupied with urban sprawl; but the consequences for valued urban landscapes may be severe. Fifth, academic concepts such as Conzen’s more sophisticated concept of ‘historicity’ (1975) could be used to refine practice-based and theoretical approaches to issues such as area character. In short, the future for geographical views of townscape conservation is likely to be one of increasing work, addressing the ‘elitist’ criticisms levelled at conservationism in recent years and the cynicism of the her itage industry, through broadening views on peripheral conservation, cultural contributions to difficult heritages, and the rising relevance of sustainability.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

There are many excellent texts that focus on single structures, localities or countries, or that adhere to narrow views of preservation or conservation.Those listed here take wider, more inclusive perspectives, developing themes introduced in the chapter. Ashworth, G.J. and Tunbridge, J.E. (1990) The Tourist-Historic City. London: Belhaven. Developing

the concept of the ‘tourist-historic city’, bringing together issues of place-identity and marketing, planning, and developing key ideas of ‘heritage’. Ashworth, G.J. and Larkham, P.J. (eds) (1994) Building a New Heritage:Tourism, Culture and Identity in the New Europe. London: Routledge. Chapters deal with a range of applications of conservation and heritage, particularly to issues of European nationalism (Historical and as re-emerging in the late twentieth century), dissonant heritage, the role of architecture and design, tourism, and the consumption of conservation and heritage. Graham, B.J., Ashworth, G.J. and Tunbridge, J.E. (1999) A Geography of Heritage: Power, Culture and Economy. London: Arnold. This is a significant geographical overview of the her itage/ conservation field, focusing on the nature of heritage, the political, social and economic contexts, and the use or heritage in place management. Larkham, P.J. (1996) Conservation and the City. London: Routledge. A recent morphological perspective on conservation and townscape change, drawing explicit links with architectural, planning and urban design practice, and beginning to develop an international dimension. Shaw, B.J. and Jones, R. (eds) (1997) Contested Urban Heritage: Voices from the Periphery. Aldershot: Ashgate. Useful collection focusing on contestation, heritage and culture; and in a geographically neglected peripheral area, away from the usual North Atlantic axis. Whitehand, J.W.R. (1987) The Changing Face of Cities. Institute of British Geographers Special Publication 21, Oxford: Blackwell. Whitehand, J.W.R (1992) The Making of the Urban Landscape. Institute of British Geographers Special Publication 26, Oxford: Blackwell.Taken together, these books provide an overview of urban mor phological approaches to studying the changing urban landscape and concepts of management—of which conservation is a part. Case studies are UK-based but include town centres, residential areas and institutional developments.

TOWNSCAPE CONSERVATION 343 REFERENCES Ames, D.L. (1999) Understanding suburbs as historic landscapes through preservation. In R.Harris and P.J.Larkham (eds), Changing Suburbs: Foundation, Form and Function London: Spon, 222–38. Ashworth, G.J. (1994) From history to heritage: from heritage to identity: in search of concepts and models. In G.J.Ashworth and P.J.Larkham (eds) Building a New Heritage:Tourism, Culture and Identity in the New Europe, London: Routledge, 13–30. Ashworth, G.J. and Tunbridge, J.E. (1990) The TouristHistoric City. London: Belhaven. Booth, E. (1993) Enhancement in conservation areas. The Planner 79(4), 22–3. Buswell, R.J. (1984) Reconciling the past with the present: conservation policy in Newcastle upon Tyne. Cities 1(4), 500–14. Conzen, M.R.G. (1975) Geography and townscape conservation. In Anglo-German symposium in applied geography, Giessen-Würzburg-München, 1973, Giessener Geographische Schriften, 95–102 (reprinted in J.W.R.Whitehand (ed.) (1981) The Urban Landscape: Historical Development and Management. Papers by M.R.G.Conzen, London:Academic Press). Delafons, J. (1997) Politics and Preservation. London: Soon. English Heritage (1997) Conservation Area Appraisals. London: English Heritage. Falk, N. (1993) Regeneration and sustainable development. In J.N.Berry,W.S.McGreal and W.G. Deddis (eds) Urban Regeneration: Property Investment and Development, London: Spon, 161–74. Gale, D.E. (1991) The impacts of historic distr ict designation. Journal of the American Planning Association 57(3), 325–40.

Hubbard, P. (1993) The value of conservation: a critical review of behavioural research. Town Planning Review 64(4), 359–73. Kearns, G. and Philo, C. (eds) (1993) Selling Places:The City as Cultural Capital, Past and Present. Oxford: Pergamon. Koster, E. (1998) Urban morphology and computers. Urban Morphology 2(1), 3–7. LaNier, R. and McQuillan, D. (1983) The Stone Town of Zanzibar: A Strategy for Integrated Development. Nairobi. Larkham, P.J. (1996) Designating conservation areas: patterns in time and space. Journal of Urban Design 1(3), 315–27. Larkham, P.J. and Jones, A.N. (1993) The character of conservation areas in Great Britain. Town Planning Review 64(4), 395–414. Lowe, P.D. and Goyder, J. (1983) Environmental Pressure Groups in Politics. London:Allen & Unwin. Marks, R. (1996) Conservation and community: the contradictions and ambiguities of tourism in the Stone Town of Zanzibar. Habitat International 20(2), 265–78. McQuillan, A. (1990) Preservation planning in postcolonial cities. In T.R.Slater (ed.) The Built Form of Western Cities, Leicester: Leicester University Press, 394–414. Ove Arup & Partners, M.Breheny, Donald W.Insall & Associates and DTZ Debenham Thorpe (1994) Environmental Capacity: A Methodology for Historic Cities. London: English Heritage. Shaw, B.J. and Jones, R. (eds) (1997) Contested Urban Heritage:Voices from the Periphery. Aldershot: Ashgate. Strange, I. (1997) Planning for change, conserving the past: towards sustainable development policy in historic cities? Cities 14(4), 227–33. Tiesdell, S., Oc,T. and Heath,T. (1996) Revitalizing Historic Urban Quarters. Oxford: Butterworth.

Part III

Challenges of the human environment

25 Urbanisation and counterurbanisation Tony Champion

Changes in the distribution of population constitute a primary focus for geographical investigation, both theoretical and applied. The single most important dimension at global level continues to be the process of urbanisation, with the proportion of the world’s population living in urban places rapidly approaching the 50 per cent mark (UNCHR 1996). At the same time, particularly in more urbanised countries but also in some parts of the developing world, there is clear evidence of the largest cities losing population to smaller urban centres, as well as of a wider dispersal process that has produced a rural population turnaround, sometimes referred to as counterurbanisation (Champion 1989). While academics are still locked in argument about the significance of the latter for the future evolution of settlement patterns, there is no doubt that these centrifugal population shifts can have just as impressive an impact on people and places as is already well documented for the urbanisation process, nor any doubt that, while these impacts are generally positive in their effects on human welfare, they may also generate problems, which policy makers attempt to tackle. This chapter examines the main problems caused by both urbanisation and counterurbanisation and gives examples of ways in which research on the nature and causes of these processes can help towards curbing their less desirable consequences. BACKGROUND

Before going into detail about the problems caused by these two types of population shift, it is

essential to provide some background to what they involve on the ground, for as with many words ending in ‘-isation’, things are usually more complex than they seem at first glance. At its most basic, urbanisation can be defined as a process of population concentration, the main result of which is an increase in the proportion of the population living in urban places. Additionally, however, it is associated with the faster growth of the larger urban places or, in more technical terms, a positive correlation between growth rate and settlement size. Meanwhile, counterurbanisation represents—for most people, including the originator of the term (Berry 1976) —the direct antithesis of urbanisation and thus a process of population deconcentration, yet it is rarely associated with a diminution in the proportion of people considered urban and is instead more commonly seen in terms of a redistribution from larger urban places to smaller ones, together with the outward expansion of individual urban centres into the surrounding countryside (for a review of the problems of studying counterurbanisation, see Champion 1998a). Leading on from this, a second aspect needing clarification concerns the direct causes of these population shifts. If asked about this, most people would point to migration as being the key element in raising the level of urbanisation, and indeed this was undoubtedly true in the nineteenth century, when death rates in the industrial cities were very high and urban growth was possible only because of strong inward migration from rural areas or overseas. In theory, however, there are two other

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sources of urbanisation: surpluses of births over deaths and reclassification of places from rural to urban. It is estimated that in recent years, almost three-fifths of the world’s urban population growth has been the result of natural increase alone, with a significant part of the remainder being caused by rural settlements achieving urban status or being absorbed into expanding cities (McGee and Griffiths 1994). Third, in relation to the migration element, it must be stressed that population redistribution is merely the net effect of both rural-urban and urban-rural movements. Even in the nineteenth century, there was evidence of strong two-way movements between places, leading Ravenstein to develop his rule that for every migration stream, there would be a counterstream, while in the present-day developing world context this phenomenon has become so intense that it is commonly referred to as ‘circulation’.The same is true in situations of overall counterurbanisation, where the numbers of people moving down the urban hierarchy into less urban areas may be only marginally in excess of those moving up it into larger centres. The significance of this wider picture of population turnover looms much greater when there are differences in the characteristics of in-migrants and out-migrants. This is commonly the case in terms of age structure, with older people and families with children tending to form the rump of the counterurbanisers and with more school leavers and young adults moving to the larger cities (see Boyle et al. 1998 for a review of migration). Nevertheless, the majority of studies that have looked at the problems associated with urbanisation and counterurbanisation have focused on the effects of net migratory gains on the destination areas and of net losses on the source areas, so this is where the main emphasis will be put in the rest of this chapter. What must be borne in mind, however, is that, first, the net migration picture is merely the result of much larger and more complex patterns of population turnover; and second, there are other processes at work in producing these population shifts besides migration.

IMPACTS OF URBANISATION

The centripetal movement of population from rural areas into much higher-density urban concentrations carries implications for both the zones of departure and the areas of reception. It needs to be stressed that, on the whole, the impacts are positive in nature. For one thing, these shifts are usually good for the national economy in that workers are switching from rural production activities—with generally low average productivity in a traditional urbanising society (especially in areas that have been ‘overpopulated’ in relation to available resources)—into factorybased and other urban activities characterised by higher output per person. The faster growth of larger cities than smaller urban centres reinforces this process, since it is these larger cities that gain greatest benefit from agglomeration economies. This movement is also good for most of the individuals involved, since they will normally be gaining from the higher wages that derive from that greater productivity and from access to a wider range of facilities and amenities than are normally available to those living in villages and small country towns. After all, although a proportion of migrants may be lured to cities by false expectations, in most cases the migrants find themselves better off in the cities or at least, if they reckon their moves to have been misguided, have the chance of returning to their rural origins. Nevertheless, the urbanisation process is also associated with a range of negative effects for both the departure zones and the reception areas, which reduce the welfare of the residents of these areas and which tend to become more severe over time unless checked by appropriate counter-measures. As regards the rural areas, the main problem is that net out-migration will reduce the population to below the level that it would otherwise have been and may in the end lead to absolute population decline. While in the short term this may lead to the achievement of a more favourable balance between population levels and the local resource base, thereby reducing underemployment and pressures for the subdivision of family land holdings, it also lowers the ability of the local area

URBANISATION AND COUNTERURBANISATION to support community facilities.This has the effect of reducing the attractiveness of life in the countryside at the same time as the growing cities are providing an increasing range of amenities, including higher-order consumer goods, with the result that the pull of the city becomes that much greater and the incentive for further rural-urban migration stronger. The impact of migration on the rural source areas is made more acute because of the selective nature of the process. This has several facets. Outmigrants are usually young adults for whom the countryside holds few job opportunities and is unable to compete with the ‘city lights’, with the result that the next generation of children is lost to the city and the rural population becomes progressively older. The rural exodus also tends to be skewed more heavily towards women than men, because rural production is primarily the domain of male labour, whereas women can gain access to a much wider range of jobs in cities, not only in domestic and other services, but also in some branches of manufacturing like textiles.This gender selectivity reduces the ‘marriage market’ for the men that stay behind in the countryside, with the result that fewer of these have families or else eventually succumb to the temptations of the city.Third, while rural outmigration can be bipolar in social terms and involve the landless and destitute as well as the more g ifted and enterprising, it is normally the latter that dominate the outflows, whether moving to get further education or seeking work. This will tend to enhance the human capital of the city at the expense of the countryside—a process that will be reinforced by the return to their original community of migrants who have failed to achieve what they expected in the city. Turning to the impacts on the reception areas, it can be deduced from what has just been said that urban areas are clear beneficiaries of the process, in that they gain from the arrival of young, enterprising and adaptable workers and from the ‘multiplier effects’ of their consumer demands and in due course of their biological reproduction. On the other hand, there are some important ‘downside’ effects, notably on existing urban

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residents and on the overall functional efficiency of the city. Put bluntly, the arrival of new residents in the short-term increases the competition for work and for the scarce resources of space, housing, food and other everyday needs, while in the longer term the city grows larger, developing at higher densities and expanding in area. The newcomers do not incur the full costs of their migration decisions, since the additional congestion is felt by all and the provision of the extra infrastructure (roads, drainage, schools and so on) is largely financed from taxes and charges levied on the whole community. Further diseconomies arise in situations where the newcomers are significantly different in their characteristics from the longer-established urban population. In fact, it is usually the case that migrants from rural areas will arrive with few resources, given that they come from essentially poorer areas and that any family wealth will be invested in the land, let alone the fact that most will be at the start of their working lives.As a result, initially they can afford only the cheapest housing, which leads to the emergence of ‘slum housing’ areas either through the recycling of older housing or through the construction of ‘shanty towns’. This social polarisation is reinforced if the newcomers are also distinctive in their cultural attributes, not merely being associated with a rural lifestyle but being drawn from different racial stock or indeed from different national origins. The ‘ghettos’ of cities in the USA resulted from the influx of black Americans from the rural South as well as from the immigration of the rural poor from southern and eastern Europe and more recently from Latin America and Pacific Asia. Perhaps the most extreme examples of poor living conditions in the city are those associated with people intending fairly temporary residence there, such as those engaged in some form of seasonal movement or ‘circular migration’ and those whose aim is to remain in the city only long enough to acquire enough capital to set up in business back home. The two case studies illustrate well the nature, and indeed the complexity, of the urbanisation process and its impacts, as well as indicating some of

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the solutions that have been put forward to deal with the problems caused. Box 25.1 provides an example of the traditional process of rural-urban population movement: that of India, with its very large absolute increases in urban population in recent decades. Box 25.2 focuses on the phenomenon of the ‘guest workers’ recruited to northwest Europe in the third quarter of the twentieth century—a movement that was originally designed to be short-term but did not turn out that way, serving to demonstrate the potential for migration to be a ‘self-feeding’ process.

IMPACTS OF COUNTERURBANISATION

The centrifugal movement of population is a long-established phenomenon at local scale, where it is traditionally refer red to as suburbanisation because of its domination by housing. Progressively over time, these shifts have been involving a wider range of urban functions and taking place over longer distances, as daily personal mobility has grown and urban centres have expanded to embrace their previously rural hinterlands. As a result, suburban centres and ‘edge

Box 25.1 Urbanisation and rural-urban migration in India Although India still has a relatively low degree of urbanisation, with only just over one-quarter (26.1 per cent) of its population living in urban areas in 1991, its urban population has been growing rapidly in both absolute and relative ter ms over the past three decades, with the larger cities constituting a progressively larger share of the total (Table 25.1).

Rural–urban migration has accounted for only about one-fifth of this growth, the remainder being due to the rapid rise in the number of settlements classified as towns and to the relatively high rate of natural increase in urban areas. Moreover, the rates of urbanisation and rural-urban migration both fell somewhat in the 1980s compared with the previous decade.

Indian cities share most of the characteristics and problems of rapidly growing cities in the developing world, particularly in relation to housing. Census data indicate that the quality of shelter per capita has declined over the last thirty years as measured by indices of overcrowding. Typically, the poorest of urban dwellers, as many as 30–50 per cent in most cities, live in dwellings that have been constructed by themselves or with the help of neighbours, friends and other locals, usually without formal design and often using waste materials. There is an inadequate supply of sites for development, leading to squatting. Much depends on the availability of public funding, but the main local revenue sources for urban authorities (property taxes and a tax on goods entering urban areas) have proved difficult to administer.

At the same time, there are some positive signs, notably the relatively low level of rural-urban migration— equivalent to only about 1 per cent of the rural population annually—and also the fact that this appears to be contributing as much to the growth of medium-sized and small towns as to the larger cities. Rural areas are characterised by a significant degree of surplus labour, so current levels of migration are not likely to have an adverse effect on production capacity. With so much scope for further urbanisation remaining, however, the main challenges are to accelerate the pace of economic transformation into non-agricultural activities and to reinforce the trend towards a more balanced distribution of growth across the urban system. Sources: Mohan 1996; Papola 1997; Visaria 1997.

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Box 25.2 ‘Guest workers’ in Western Europe The ‘guest worker’ system was established in the early postwar period by the more industrialised countries of northwest Europe (especially West Germany and France) to combat labour shortages arising from renewed economic growth and the low fertility of the interwar years. Normally through bilateral agreements with countries with labour surpluses (especially southern Europe but also Turkey and North Africa), workers were recruited on relatively short-term contracts, usually of no more than one or two years, with the expectation that afterwards they would return to their origins, taking with them the money that they had saved and the skills that they had acquired. The system proved highly successful in terms of the numbers involved, with annual flows of labour migrants to West Germany averaging 0.4 million in the 1960s and reaching a peak of 0.7 million in 1970; and flows to France averaging 0.25 million in the later 1960s. By the end of 1973, foreign workers made up 12 and 10 per cent, respectively, of the total labour forces of these two countries and the propor tion was even higher in Switzerland, at 30 per cent. Active recruitment terminated soon after this, mainly because of economic downturn in these countries occurring at the same time as their rate of indigenous labour supply was again increasing, but also because the ‘guest worker’ system seemed to be taking on a dynamic of its own and having some unintended impacts. The main problems with the system arose because the migrants’ stays tended not to be as temporary as originally anticipated, chiefly because it took them longer to earn the money that they had hoped for. In due course, they were joined by family and others from their home area in a process known as ‘chain migration’. In the end,

cities’ have increasingly been challenging the original central business districts (Hartshorn and Muller 1986; Garreau 1991). It is only since the 1960s, however, that records have shown a largescale net exodus from these wider metropolitan regions into smaller urban regions and rural areas that lie beyond the primary commutersheds of the major cities, the process commonly termed counterurbanisation (see, for instance, Berry 1976; Fielding 1982; Champion 1989). Suburbanisation, or ‘local urban decentralization’, and counterurbanisation, or ‘urban deconcentration’, carry largely similar implications for the older urban cores, or ‘central cities’ in Amer ican parlance, which both of them are denuding of residents and activities, but their impacts on the reception areas are differentiated to a greater extent, mainly because of contrasts in the character

it was not uncommon for whole communities to become transplanted, including shopkeepers and in some cases even the village priest, as the continued exodus of young men progressively undermined local farming and social life in the rural areas that formed the main source areas. The cumulative nature of this migration, referred to as a ‘self-feeding’ process by Böhning (1972), was reinforced by the way in which the migrants soon came to dominate whole sectors of the economies of their host countries, such as metal manufacturing, textiles, and hotels and catering, making these sectors less ‘respectable’ for the native population and increasing their dependence on the immigrant groups. The system therefore produced some extreme examples of the effects of urbanisation. At the rural end, it threatened the long-term survival of settlement in areas that not long before had been overpopulated, prompting policy responses in the form of trying to diversify the local economy away from dependence on farming and to stabilise the service sector base by concentrating new public investment into key settlements. At the big-city destinations in northwest Europe, the biggest challenge concerned the very poor living conditions of the immigrant workers—perhaps not so serious an issue in the early stages when only young men were arriving for temporary work, but a major concern when they stayed longer and formed families. A quarter of a century on from the end of the ‘guest worker’ system, there remains a clear legacy in the form of high concentrations of immigrant stock in the poorest housing and most deprived neighbourhoods. Sources: Böhning 1972; Salt 1976; Salt and Clout 1976; Ogden 1993; Blotevogel et al. 1993.

of areas affected but also because of some differences in the types of people involved. Urban decline and inner-city problems are nowadays high on the policy agenda of most developed countries. As with urbanisation, many of the changes induced by population deconcentration are positive in nature, being associated with long-term social trends that most people embrace wholeheartedly, for instance rising real incomes, greater personal mobility, a widespread desire for living in relatively new low-density settlements and the economic advantages of home owner ship. Other irreversible trends aggravating urban decline are the shr inking share of the workforce in manuf actur ing and the expanding use of electronic communications technology. Yet, in the words of Downs (1994: p. 60):

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The same forces that have successfully produced the suburban American dream of single-family homes, two cars in every garage, and a better life have left many of the poor behind in central-city locations. Poverty breeds deterioration and despair, which feed on themselves in the form of crime, ignorance, and poor health. And so a downward spiral of life perpetutates itself. This vicious circle of decline has proved extremely difficult to break. Certainly, the big-city authorities appear unable to redress these problems by themselves, because of lack of resources. As noted by Eversley (1972), in an early analysis of the inner-city problem in Britain, the fiscal resources available to city governments shrink as their wealthier residents and most rapidly expanding businesses depart, while at the same time their per capita needs for public sector services increase because of their progressively rising proportions of very poor households. The latter is further aggravated if cities continue to act as reception areas for low-income people arriving from backward rural areas and other countries, as has been very widely the case in Western Europe and North America in recent decades (see previous section). At the same time, the process of receiving the city exodus in the suburbs and beyond is not without its difficulties, just as the process of urbanisation has proved not totally beneficial to the cities involved. As regards the suburbs, the problems are principally those of congestion and costs. As the development pressures build up, land becomes more scarce, building tends to take place at higher densities and newcomers get less housing for their money than earlier suburbanites. The latter, however, also face disadvantages in due course, as they lose the green space and low local taxes that helped to persuade them to move in the first place. With further building, they find their homes further from open land, and the taxes rise as the local powers need extra funds to provide new schools, roads, drains and community facilities, while road congestion increases and makes the commute back to the city-based job more stressful. Little wonder

that the earlier cohort of suburbanisers attempt to ‘raise the drawbridge’ behind them by opposing new development schemes in NIMBY (not in my back yard) fashion and by campaigning for no-go areas (e.g. green belts) and exclusionary zoning (see, for instance, Murdoch and Marsden 1994) in an effort to keep further growth to a small trickle of the most wealthy! Similar issues arise from the counterurbanisation that can be prompted by restrictions on suburban growth as well as arise from more deep-seated forces, but the impacts of these longer-distance moves from cities tend to be more complex and diverse. In the first place, as with the suburbs, any influx pushes up land and property prices, a rise made all the sharper by the fact that previously these areas will have been languishing in economic terms and have had house prices attuned to what lowincome rural workers could afford. Second, as the reception areas are primarily smaller urban centres and more remote areas that have traditionally been little affected by metropolitan influences, the arrival of ‘city folk’ can administer a major social and cultural jolt to the existing community, captured well in Pahl’s (1966) phrase urbs in rure. Third, unlike the suburbs, which attract primarily younger families, the counter-urbanisation process involves a much greater proportion of older people, including retirees, reinforcing the top-heavy age structure already resulting from the departure of young adults and in due course increasing the burden on health care and social services. Many of these areas are also affected by their attractiveness for city-based second-home owners, removing housing from the local market without any gain in permanent residents. Despite the overall boost given to the local economy, the outcome may well be an acceleration in the outmigration of less welloff local people, particularly where restrictions on new building (for instance, in national parks and other protected areas) focus the extra pressures on the existing stock of housing. Ideas for solutions abound, but as can be seen from the case studies, they have so far proved to have been of only limited effect. Given the deeprooted nature of the urban deconcentration process, it is perhaps not surprising that the most

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Box 25.3 Suburbanization and central city decline in the USA America is now very much a ‘suburban’ nation, with its 1990 Census showing almost half (46.2 per cent) of total population living in non-central parts of metropolitan areas and less than one third (31.3 per cent) remaining in central cities. Over the previous decade, America’s suburbs had increased their number of residents by 1.4 per cent a year, while the central cities had grown annually by only 0.6 per cent—and this almost entirely due to the contribution of the southern and western states. In the northeast, central cities were already in decline in the 1960s and lost over 10 per cent of their population in the 1970s before recovering to close to a zero growth balance in the 1980s. Central cities in the mid-west recorded a 9 per cent loss in the 1970s, as the USA’s former manufacturing heartland switched to ‘rust belt’, and were still declining overall in the 1980s. The impacts on the central cities have been huge. Alarm bells began ringing in the 1960s when several city authorities, notably New York, became effectively

bankrupt as a result of borrowing money to finance current expenditure on services. Rising local taxes and deteriorating local services merely served to accelerate the flight of better-off residents and more footloose firms into the burgeoning suburbs, leaving behind the less dynamic economic sectors and least wealthy people, notably blacks and recent overseas immigrants. Even in the more stable 1980s, when New York City’s population grew by 3.5 per cent, its white, non-Hispanic population fell by 11.5 per cent and the proportion of its total residents accounting for the ‘minority population’ rose to over 60 per cent in 1990. Similar patterns of white population loss and high minority shares were recorded by a number of other cities (Table 25.2). Meanwhile, across America in 1990 the central cities accounted for three-quarters of people living in ‘extreme poverty neighbourhoods’ and 91 per cent of the nation’s population living in ‘underclass neighbourhoods’ (Downs 1994).

Though intervening in these market-forces outcomes is considered un-American by many people, a variety of strategies have been experimented with over the years. The most basic need is for extra public funds to compensate for the shrinking tax base, which can be achieved either by directly redistributing local tax revenues from wealthy suburban municipalities to central cities or more commonly by funding regeneration programmes through state and federal governments. Beyond this, in a review of American urban policy, Downs (ibid.) identifies four key problems facing deprived inner-city neighbourhoods: crime and insecurity, children raised in

poverty, poor education and poor worker integration into the mainstream labour force. These can best be tackled through four types of strategy: area development (addressed particularly at policing, education and job creation); personal development (focusing on parents and children at home and in schools); household mobility (especially facilitating the migration of poorer families into better-off areas); and worker mobility (via better childcare facilities and easier commuting to suburban jobs).

impressive achievements have occurred where policies have sought to channel or moderate the main trends rather than reverse them. The new

Sources: 1990 US Census; Fainstein et al. 1992; Downs 1994.

towns programme was one of the great success stories of postwar planning in Britain, although it proved inadequate at coping with the total

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Box 25.4 Counterurbanisation and rural change in the UK Counterurbanisation in Britain dates back to the 1960s, when for the first time the areas situated well away from metropolitan influence began to grow faster than the main conurbations and their dependent regions. Population growth in rural Britain was particularly strong in the late 1960s and early 1970s but has continued over the past two decades, with net out-migration from the main metropolitan areas to the rest of the UK averaging about 90,000 people a year, a rate of 0.5 per cent. The main contributor to this urban exodus in both absolute and relative terms is Inner London, while the

main beneficiary is the most remote rural category of local authority districts (Figure 25.1). Indeed, the growth of the latter is powered entirely by migration, as these areas are now experiencing a surplus of deaths over births— a product of the above-average age of the inmigrants combined with the continuing ‘urbanisation’ of school leavers. What these statistics fail to show is the growth of temporary residents and visitors, as it is not easy to monitor the occupancy of second homes and holiday lets or to gauge the volume of day trips and overnight stays.

While this ‘rural renaissance’ is encouraging in economic terms after decades of depopulation, the benefits are not as great as the pure population statistics might suggest and also need to be set against some important negative impacts. As a significant proportion of the people moving into the more remote areas are of older working age or are already retired, their arrival does little to boost the demand for places in local schools threatened by closure because of the departure of young people. Their strong purchasing power, helped by selling a family-size home in metropolitan Britain, raises property prices, thereby making it more difficult for local children to remain in the area when they want to set up home. Moreover, these post-family-age newcomers are not big consumers of everyday goods and, anyway, tend to do most of their buying by car on outings to supermarkets in nearby towns rather than patronise the more expensive local stores. To the extent that they are still gainfully occupied, a significant proportion are selfemployed in freelance work, with little local multiplier effect, or in tourist-related shop and accommodation ventures, which often are of limited success and duration. Later, as the newcomers age and become less mobile,

they place extra demands on already stretched public transport, social support and health-care facilities (Gant and Smith 1991). Solutions to these challenges have tended to be limited in both variety and effectiveness, not helped by a general reluctance to engage in social engineering and impose limits on personal freedom. In the Lake District, an attempt to restrict the sale of new housing to local people only initially caused rapid inflation in prices of existing houses and was eventually declared illegal by central government (Shucksmith 1991). Efforts have been made to curb the inflow of elderly people to the ‘costa geriatrica’ of southwest England by refusing applications for permission to build new bungalows and convert seaside hotels into nursing homes, but this approach has often proved controversial locally (Phillips and Vincent 1987). Perhaps the most effective solutions lie outside the rural areas themselves, namely in improving the attractiveness of the main source areas and persuading more older people to stay put there, closer to urban amenities and to the support of family and friends. Sour.ces: Champion 1994; Gant and Smith 1991; Shucksmith 1991; Phillips and Vincent 1987.

URBANISATION AND COUNTERURBANISATION volume of urban out-migration and in the end was accused of starving the cities of industrial investment (Aldridge 1979). The green belts helped to limit the physical spread of the conurbations but prompted the leapfrogging of population and housebuilding into more distant towns and deeper countryside (Hall et al. 1973). Land development restrictions and landscape protection measures have increased congestion in the cities and further enhanced the appeal of the ‘rural idyll’, somewhat paradoxically magnifying the benefits to be gained from urban-rural migration (Champion 1998b). Meanwhile, neither the much publicised waterfront renewal schemes, such as in New York, Baltimore and London Docklands (Hoyle et al. 1988), nor the wider ‘reurbanisation’ process (Bourne 1996) have generally been sufficient to produce a significant long-term reversal in the urban exodus— ‘islands of renewal in a sea of decay’, according to Berry (1985). On the other hand, the last two decades have seen some stabilisation of large-city populations, partly as a result of growth in financial services and of 1960s’ ‘baby boomers’ reaching adulthood and moving to the ‘city lights’, but also because of higher immigration from overseas and periodic recessions in the building industry (Frey 1993; Champion 1994; Downs 1994).

CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS

Both urbanisation and counter-urbanisation, as defined for the purposes of this chapter, constitute fundamental processes of population redistribution that are taking place in response to deep-seated societal changes and, in their turn, also have major impacts on people and places. They are complex even when being analysed directly in demographic accounting terms, because these geographical shifts in population are produced not only by migration but also by trends in births and deaths and by changes in which settlement systems are conceptualised and delineated. Their complexity becomes infinitely greater when attempts are made to study the factors that influence people’s behaviour, partly because of the huge gap that exists

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between these two terms as essentially academic constructs and the everyday reality of individuals making decisions about choosing where to live. It is therefore perhaps not surprising to find that, as demonstrated in this chapter, most of the literature explicitly concerned with urbanisation and counter-urbanisation is descriptive and analytical, striving to make sense of developing tendencies and thus helping to provide a better-informed context for discussions in the policy arena. It is also important to recognise the general reluctance of democratic governments to become involved in what might be seen as ‘social engineering’.There are few contemporary examples of direct government intervention into people’s decisions on where to live within countries (e.g. China), unlike the actions taken to prevent migration between states. Policies on internal population distribution are invariably indirect in nature, coming partly in the form of exhortation and sometimes financial inducements but most commonly being implemented through attempts to modify the wider planning environment Most of the examples of policy intervention given in this chapter comprise measures directed at patterns of economic growth, social welfare and physical development, using a combination of ‘stick’ (e.g. restrictions on new building) and ‘carrot’ (e.g. subsidies to developers and employers). In research terms, these aspects have tended to be of secondary interest to the population geographers who have dominated the study of urbanisation and counterurbanisation trends over the past quarter of a century. But the widespread incidence and increasing intensity of social, economic and environmental problems arising from urbanisation and counterurbanisation commend the field to applied geographers, whose problemoriented perspective can offer an invaluable complement to the process-oriented perspective of the demographer.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Champion, A.G. (1998) Studying counterurbanisation and the rural population turnaround. In P.Boyle and K.Halfacree (eds)

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Migration into Rural Areas: Theories and Issues, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 21–40. An outline history of the study of counter-urbanisation, highlighting the preoccupation of population geographers with conceptualising, measuring and explaining the phenomenon. Downs, A. (1994) New Visions for Metropolitan America. Washington, DC:The Brookings Institute. A clear analysis of the relations between cities and suburbs in the USA, followed by an evaluation of past policies and recommendations for the future. Hall, P., Thomas, R., Gracey, H. and Drewett, R. (1973) The Containment of Urban England. London: Allen & Unwin, 2 vols. Still the most detailed and comprehensive account of the impact of town and country planning measures designed to restrict urban sprawl in Britain. Jones, G.W. and Visaria, P. (eds) Urbanisation in Large Developing Countries: China, Indonesia, Brazil and India. Oxford: Clarendon Press.A collection of wellresearched essays on the urbanisation process in the developing world, including details of national urban development strategies and assessments of their effectiveness in combating the problems caused by rapid urban population growth. Murdoch, J. and Marsden, T. (1994) Reconstituting Rurality: Class, Community and Power in the Development Process. London: UCL Press. The results of a detailed case study in England showing how counterurbanisers have altered the social and political complexion of the countryside and attempted to realise their notions of the ‘rural idyll’ and resist migration and development pressures that might lead to a further reshaping of their settlements. UNCHR (1996) An Urbanising World: Global Report on Human Settlements 1996. Oxford: Oxford University Press. A massive compilation prepared for the 1996 (Habitat II) Conference organised by the United Nations Centre for Human Settlements, covering global and regional perspectives on population and urbanisation, social and environmental conditions and trends, developments in key problem areas (housing, land, infrastructure, governance) and policy responses in settlement planning and environmental protection.

REFERENCES Aldridge, M. (1979) The British New Towns: A Programme without a Policy. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Ber ry, B.J.L. (ed.) (1976) Urbanisation and Counterurbanisation. Beverly Hills, Calif.: Sage. Berry, B.J.L. (1985) Islands of renewal in seas of decay. In P.Petersen (ed.) The Urban Reality, Washington, DC:The Brookings Institute, 69–96. Blotevogel, H.H., Jung, U.M. and Wood, G. (1993) From itinerant worker to immigrant? The geography of guestworkers in Germany. In R. King (ed.) Mass Migrations in Europe:The Legacy and the Future, London: Belhaven, 83–100. Böhning,W.R. (1972) The Migration of Workers in the United Kingdom and the European Community. London: Oxford University Press. Bourne, L.S. (1996) Reurbanisation, uneven urban development and the debate on new urban forms. Urban Geography 17, 690–713. Boyle, P., Halfacree, K. and Robinson, V. (1998) Exploring Contemporary Migration. Harlow: Longman. Champion, A.G. (ed.) (1989) Counterurbanisation: The Changing Pace and Nature of Population Deconcentration. London:Arnold. Champion, A.G. (1994) Population change and migration in Britain since 1981: evidence for continuing deconcentration. Environment and Planning A 26, 1501–20. Champion, A.G. (1998a) Studying counterurbanisation and the rural population turnaround. In P.Boyle and K.Halfacree (eds) Migration into Rural Areas:Theories and Issues, Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 21–40. Champion, A.G. (1998b) Urban Exodus. London: Council for the Protection of Rural England. Champion, A.G. and Atkins, D.J. (1996) The counterurbanisation cascade: an analysis of the 1991 census special migration statistics for Great Britain Seminar Paper No. 66, Department of Geography, University of Newcastle upon Tyne. Downs, A. (1994) New Visions for Metropolitan America. Washington, DC:The Brookings Institute. Eversley, D.E.C. (1972) Rising costs and static incomes: some economic consequences of regional planning in London. Urban Studies 9, 347–68. Fainstein, S., Gordon, I. and Harloe, M. (1992) Divided Cities: New York and London in the Contemporary World. Oxford: Blackwell. Fielding, A.J. (1982) Counterurbanisation in Western Europe. Progress in Planning 17, 1–52. Frey, W.H. (1993) The urban revival in the United States. Urban Studies 30, 741–74.

URBANISATION AND COUNTERURBANISATION Gant, R. and Smith, J. (1991) The elderly and disabled in rural areas: travel patterns in the north Cotswolds. In T.Champion and C.Watkins (eds) People in the Countryside: Studies of Social Change in Rural Britain, London: Paul Chapman, 108–24. Garreau, J. (1991) Edge City: Life on the New Frontier. New York: Doubleday. Hall, P., Thomas, R., Gracey, H. and Drewett, R. (1973) The Containment of Urban England. London: Allen & Unwin, 2 vols. Hartshorn, T.A. and Muller, P.O. (1986) Suburban Business Centers: Employment Implications. Washington, DC: US Department of Commerce, Economic Development Administration. Hoyle, B.S., Pinder, D.A. and Husain, M.S. (eds) (1988) Revitalising the Waterfront: International Dimensions of Dockland Redevelopment. London: Belhaven. McGee, T. and Griffiths, C.J. (1994) Global urbanisation: towards the twenty-first centur y. In Popuation Distribution and Migration, New York: United Nations Population Division, 55–74. Mohan, R. (1996) Urbanisation in India: patterns and emerging policy issues. In J.Gugler (ed.) The Urban Transformation of the Developing World, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 93–132. Murdoch, J. and Marsden, T. (1994) Reconstituting Rurality: Class, Community and Power in the Development Process. London: UCL Press. Ogden, P. (1993) The legacy of migration: some evidence from France. In R.King (ed.) Mass Migrations in Europe: The Legacy and the Future, London: Belhaven, 101–17.

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Pahl, R.E. (1966) Urbs in Rure. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Papola, T.S. (1997) Extent and implications of rural-urban migration in India. In G.W.Jones and P.Visaria (eds) Urbanisation in Large Developing Countries: China, Indonesia, Brazil and India, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 315–20. Phillips, D. and Vincent, J. (1987) Spatial concentration of residential homes for the elderly: planning reponses and dilemmas. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers New Series 12, 73–83. Salt, J. (1976) International labour migration: the geographical pattern of demand. In J.Salt and H. Clout (eds) Migration in Post-war Europe: Geographical Essays, London: Oxford University Press, 80–125. Salt, J. and Clout, H. (1976) International labour migration: the sources of supply. In J.Salt and H. Clout (eds) Migration in Post-war Europe: Geographical Essays, London: Oxford University Press, 126–67. Shucksmith, M. (1991) Still no homes for locals? Affordable housing and planning controls in rural areas. In T.Champion and C.Watkins (eds) People in the Countryside: Studies of Social Change in Rural Britain, London: Paul Chapman, 53–66. UNCHR (1996) An Urbanising World: Global Report on Human Settlements 1996. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Visaria, P. (1997) Urbanisation in India: an overview. In G.W.Jones and P.Visaria (eds) Urbanisation in Large Developing Countries: China, Indonesia, Brazil and India, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 266–88.

26 Boundary disputes Gerald Blake

INTRODUCTION

Since the Second World War, the international community has formally declared itself in favour of the stability of boundaries between states. The Charter of the United Nations set the scene in 1945 by recognising that the sovereignty of a properly constituted state is absolute and exclusive, and that states must respect the territorial integrity of one another. The principle of the inviolability of boundaries has been confirmed on a number of subsequent occasions. In 1964, member states of the Organisation of African Unity agreed to respect the borders that they had inherited from colonial times. In 1975 in the Helsinki Final Act, the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe affirmed the same principle, while in 1991 the Commonwealth of Independent States (the majority of the states of the former Soviet Union) also agreed to accept their inherited boundaries. States in Latin America had set the trend in the nineteenth century when they became independent of Spain and Portugal, a principle known as Uti possidetis.These worthy declarations, alas, have not rid the world of boundary disputes. On the contrary, Africa, Europe, the former Soviet Union and Latin America have all witnessed a large number of boundary disputes, and some spectacular changes to the political map.The truth is that the world political map is changing all the time, and will continue to change in future. Boundary disputes must therefore be seen in the context of an evolving political mosaic. In many cases, disputes result in ter r itor ial adjustments, but the political map also changes in

response to other powerful processes. Goertz and Diehl (1992) undertook an analysis of territorial changes worldwide from 1816 to 1980. Of 770 territorial transfers, 42.3 per cent were by cession, 15.6 per cent by conquest, 15.5 per cent on independence and 14.5 per cent by annexation. Other causes were secession, unification and mandates. Since 1980, there have been large-scale changes to the world map, particularly in the wake of the break-up of the Soviet Union. Altogether, twenty-two new states have emerged, and more than fifty new land boundaries. A series of world maps in Foucher (1988) tracing the evolution of international boundaries since 1800 strikingly reveal how the political arrangement of space can change through time.The world map of 100 years ago is scarcely recognisable; it is doubtful whether today’s world map will be recognisable a century hence. The popular perception is that the map we know is permanent, a kind of finished product. In reality, it is a snapshot of geopolitical history.

THE DIMENSIONS OF THE PROBLEM

There are 191 independent states and seventy dependent territories in the world today. Most of the surviving dependencies are islands. Seven states retain territorial claims to Antarctica, but these boundaries are not considered here.There are 308 land boundaries between sovereign states (Biger 1995), although some authorities find a few more. Out of the 191 independent states, 148 are coastal

BOUNDARY DISPUTES states with the right to delimit their offshore areas. These coastal states, together with the island dependencies mentioned above, will generate approximately 420 international mar itime boundaries. Maritime boundary delimitation only began in earnest less than fifty years ago, and by 1998 only about 150 (35 per cent) had been formally agreed. At the present rate of about five agreements per annum (Charney and Alexander 1993; 1998), the offshore international boundary map will take fifty-four years to complete. How many of the world’s boundaries are disputed? Attempts to draw up lists of disputed boundaries around the world always differ in certain respects, and the totals rarely tally. There are problems of definition and information. Paul Huth (1996) has written a most valuable analysis, covering land and island disputes (not maritime disputes) from 1950 to 1990. Using a strict definition of ‘dispute’, Huth identified 129 cases, 116 of which he categorised as ‘boundary’ rather than ‘territorial’ disputes. During the period 1950–90, 33 per cent of borders were at some point in dispute (ibid.: p. 34). This coincides with best estimates of the propor tion of land boundaries in dispute in 1998. Since the Soviet Union broke up in 1989, it has been difficult to estimate the number of true boundary disputes there. Kolossov et al. (1992: pp. 42–50) counted 168 ethno-territorial conflicts, a quarter of which involved boundary changes on state borders. As to maritime boundaries, there are 270 undelimited. In a significant proportion of cases, no attempt is yet being made to delimit boundar ies, and therefore no dispute has emerged. There are, however, a number of ongoing maritime boundary disputes, including at least thirty associated with disputed island sovereignty, and about thirty other delimitation disputes (McDorman and Chircop 1991: pp. 344–86). Thus approximately 22 per cent of the undelimited maritime boundaries are already known to be in dispute, and the signs are that there will be a lot more. Many of these should be resolved peacefully, but among them are nasty potential flashpoints, in the Aegean and South China Seas, for example.

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By most reckoning, this amounts to a large number of boundary disputes, but we should not be surprised. The land boundary system was largely the creation of Europe, usually superimposed on the underlying geography, and boundary lines of no width were an alien concept in many parts of the world. Many boundaries came about almost by accident, and the wonder is that they have survived at all. But whatever the causes of disputes may be, they should be taken seriously; one-third of the wars fought since 1945 had territorial questions as a major contributory factor. At a time when globalisation and the ‘borderless world’ are topics of debate among social scientists, it is tempting to regard border troubles as of diminishing significance. Unfortunately, the evidence is to quite the contrary.

THE CHARACTERISTICS OF INTERNATIONAL BOUNDARIES Land boundaries

The land boundaries between states appear on our world maps as thin lines, usually depicted by the same colour and symbol throughout. In reality, state boundaries differ greatly in their origins, age, permeability and degree of conformity to the human and physical geography. Some boundaries have been formally agreed and marked out on the ground. Others have never been properly delimited or demarcated and continue to carry the seeds of potential conflict. The borderlands on each side of the boundary may be hostile, or may enjoy a high level of integration. Generalisations about the world’s 300-plus land boundaries are therefore difficult, but one universal characteristic is their sensitivity. International boundaries mark the absolute limits of state sovereignty, of the identity of its peoples, the extent of its legal and administrative system, resources, and security arrangements. The boundary marks the interface between neighbouring states and is often used as the setting for symbolic acts of friendship or hostility.

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State boundaries extend vertically into the air to an undefined height, and vertically into the Earth, where they define ownership of resources, to unlimited depth. Although many boundaries are marked by complex systems of barbed wire and other obstacles sometimes several metres wide, the boundary itself is a line of no width. Where two boundaries meet, the result is a precise point. With the availability of global positioning systems (GPS), boundaries can be fixed with great accuracy, and territories allocated with precision. Str ictly speaking, there are therefore few frontiers (or zones of transition) between states as boundaries are delimited and demarcated more accurately. Geographers like to distinguish between frontiers and boundaries, but the terms are commonly regarded as synonymous, not least by the eminent boundary scholar S.W.Boggs (1940). Air boundaries

The 1944 Convention on International Civil Aviation and the 1982 UN Convention on the Law of the Sea recognise absolute state sovereignty over the land area of the state and its territorial sea, and over the airspace above. The upper limit of state control of airspace has never been defined, but for all practical purposes it is the limit of powered flight. Aircraft of other states must seek permission to overfly the land territory or the territorial sea of another state. In normal circumstances this is granted, but certain airlines such as El Al (Israel) and South African Airways were once excluded from the airspace of a number of states for political reasons. States guard their airspace jealously for the sake of security and safety, and a number of serious incidents have occurred in contested airspace. Aircraft have the right of transit passage through straits used for international navigation, even though the strait may fall within the territorial sea of coastal states (UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) 1982,Article 38). Maritime boundaries

Unlike land boundaries, which generally may be visibly marked, maritime boundaries are not

visible, nor do they affect the everyday lives of people to such an extent. There are three kinds of maritime boundary. First, adjacent boundaries, which start from the land boundary terminus, 160 of which reach the coast worldwide. Second, opposite boundaries are those between opposite states in enclosed and semi-enclosed seas. Third, there are boundaries between coastal state jurisdiction and the international seabed beyond. This is primarily determined by a 200-nautical-mile limit (1 nautical mile = 1.15 statute miles or 1.852 km) measured from the baseline along the coast, but some twenty-two states are also entitled to claim continental shelf beyond 200 miles in accordance with Article 76 of UNCLOS 1982 (Prescott 1996: pp. 51–82). The legal functions of maritime boundaries are more varied than for land boundaries, which define absolute state sovereignty. Within the territorial sea to a maximum distance of twelve nautical miles state sovereignty is absolute, except that ships of other states are entitled to innocent passage (UNCLOS 1982, Article 17). Beyond twelve miles to a distance of 200 nautical miles is the exclusive economic zone (or EEZ), in which the coastal state enjoys exclusive rights to living and non-living resources (UNCLOS 1982, Article 56). States also have the exclusive right to the resources of their continental shelves, including notably hydrocarbons, minerals and bottom-dwelling marine life (UNCLOS 1982,Article 77). In theory, therefore, a coastal state may have maritime boundary agreements with neighbouring states in respect of territorial sea and/or continental shelf and EEZ. In practice, most modern maritime boundary ag reements are ‘all-pur pose’ boundaries, rather confusingly referred to as ‘single maritime boundaries’. In spite of their complexity, mar itime boundar ies have one advantage over land boundar ies in that UNCLOS offers some guidelines for boundar y delimitation. For territorial sea boundaries, there is a presumption that the line will be equidistant between the parties’ coasts (UNCLOS 1982, Article 15) unless they agree otherwise or some special circumstance justifies an alternative alignment. Continental shelf

BOUNDARY DISPUTES and EEZ boundaries, on the other hand, are to be drawn ‘by agreement on the basis of international law…in order to achieve an equitable solution’ (UNCLOS 1982, Articles 74 and 83), which may or may not mean an equidistance line.

WHY BOUNDARY DISPUTES OCCUR ON LAND

There is a considerable volume of literature on the causes and consequences of land boundary disputes, to which geographers have made a significant contribution, particularly in the reporting of individual cases. Although the subject has been explored by scholars for a century or more, there is still no useful theory as to why boundary disputes occur. Part of the problem is their sheer diversity through time and across space. Another difficulty is distinguishing between the underlying and the immediate causes of a dispute. Furthermore, in many cases tension at the state boundary is symptomatic of the relationship between neighbours, and the boundary is not the real substance of their quarrel: ‘a boundary, like the human skin, may have diseases of its own or may reflect the illnesses of the body’ (Jones 1945: p. 3). These factors make simple explanations of boundary disputes both difficult and potentially misleading. Most disputes comprise a number of ingredients, and it is not always clear which are the most important. Positional disputes

When the precise location of a boundary is in doubt, it is known as a positional problem. Such disputes can occur for a number of reasons. River boundaries are notorious for positional disputes, especially in areas where the course of the river or the main navigation channel shifts with natural physical processes. The Rio Grande (Mexico-United States) proved to be a most inconvenient international boundary because of marked changes in its course dur ing the nineteenth century. A modern example is the

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Congo River (Angola-Democratic Republic of Congo, formerly Zaire), where the international boundary follows the navigation channel under an agreement of 1891. Figure 26.1 shows the extent of the changes in the navigation channel between 1960 and 1977, raising questions as to the ownership of islands that find themselves on one side and then the other side of the boundary. Many other positional questions are raised by river boundaries, including finding the midpoint, the fastest stream, or the deepest water, all of which have been used to locate international boundaries. Positional disputes also occur in a variety of other circumstances, especially where boundary demarcation has not taken place. Problems can also arise after demarcation if boundary markers are removed or destroyed. In recent years, the use of GPS has facilitated the resolution of such disputes, but it has also revealed a number of incor rectly located boundaries, resulting in low-level disputes. Territorial disputes

The distinction between positional and territorial disputes is primarily a matter of scale. Because so much more is at stake, the risk of serious conflict is greater. States may lay claim to the territory of another state for many reasons. A major category of motives is geopolitical. Territory may be needed to ensure access to the sea, or to give control of a strategic location, or to depr ive a hostile neighbour of a vital road or rail link. Campaigns have been fought in the Middle East and in southeast Europe for these reasons in the past thirty years. Territorial disputes also occur quite commonly because peoples of the same ethnic background are divided by the international boundary. Figure 26.2 illustrates typical cases where divided ethnic groups seek independence, or wish to secede to a neighbouring state. There are perhaps between 6000 and 9000 ‘suppressed nationalisms’ in the world today, many of which are in or near borderlands, and they are likely to be more influential in defining the shape of tomorrow’s world political map (Griggs and Hocknell 1995: pp. 49–58). Disputes that feature

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CHALLENGES OF THE HUMAN ENVIRONMENT Figure 26.1 The Zaire-Angola boundary in the Zaire River, 1960 (top) and 1977 (bottom).

Figure 26.2 Some geographical causes of International stress along state boundaries.

BOUNDARY DISPUTES ethnic groups often depend heavily on history as part of the case for territorial change.The concern of governments to acquire or protect resources also helps to explain territorial ambition. As the demand for scarce resources of oil, gas, fish and fresh water has increased, states have turned to more marginal areas, and territorial disputes may be the result. A final, and crucial, element in many territorial disputes is human territoriality. In some territorial conflicts, it is difficult to detect any other motive than the intense desire by one party to protect what it believes to be its own, and the desire of another, fired by nationalist fervour, to extend its domain. Passions can run high where even small areas of land are in question. Functional disputes

Stress can be caused between states by the consequences of the international boundary rather than its location. Functional disputes are very common and cover a wide range of activities. For tunately, they are commonly managed peacefully by the parties and no serious dispute results. Many busy boundaries maintain joint commissions or groups of some kind to troubleshoot as problems arise and are very successful in keeping the peace. A large category of grievances concerns unauthorised border crossings by smugglers, bandits, migrant workers and refugees, with the allegation that state A is doing too little to prevent incursion into state B. Other functional disputes include illegal transboundary fishing, or accusations that a state is taking out more than its fair share of water or oil from a straddling reservoir. The examples are legion, and the closer one examines any particular boundary, the more functional problems become evident. Figure 26.1 illustrates a number, including a nature conservation area in state C that is not matched in state B, making borderland species protection and biodiversity programmes ineffective. Pollution of r ivers, lakes and beaches from across the inter national boundar y is also a common grievance, and the consequences of dam building and the extraction of water by upstream states in shared river basins is another. All this underlines

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the growing need for training in boundary management skills, and continuing exchange of ideas about best practice (Blake et al. 1995). Technical problems

As with charts (see below), the misuse and misunderstanding of topographic maps can create border problems between states. Some of the major pitfalls are discussed by Adler (1995), Rushworth (1997) and Blake (1995). Common problems are concerned with misunderstanding scale, and geodetic datums, misuse of coordinates, and failure to understand the limitations of maps.

WHY BOUNDARY DISPUTES OCCUR AT SEA

Maritime boundary questions are less inclined to create serious international friction than land boundaries, because emotional and historic ties to the seabed are naturally much weaker. Islands are an exception. Rival claims to offshore islands can engender powerful nationalist emotions, and the media are fascinated by such disputes. Many tiny islands with romantic names have hit the headlines in recent years, such as Imia/Kardak, Sipadan and Ligitan, Diaoyo Tai/Senkaku and the South Sandwich Islands. A large number of these disputed islands have little intrinsic value, but their ownership can give title to surrounding seabed resources. Smith and Thomas (1998) identified thirty-two disputed islands or groups of islands worldwide involving forty-four states.The list is likely to lengthen as more states turn to maritime boundary delimitation in future.The process of offshore boundary delimitation is likely to encounter a number of other problems, which are outlined below. Questions of sovereignty

Sovereignty over islands and mainland territory must clearly be resolved before maritime boundary drawing can begin. Thus in the current (1998) dispute between Eritrea and Yemen over their Red Sea boundary, the Court of Arbitration will first

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decide who owns the Hanish Islands and then address the boundary problem. Similarly, if there is uncertainty about the location of the land boundary terminus at the coast, the adjacent maritime boundary cannot be agreed. In the Red Sea, there is no Egypt-Sudan maritime boundary because of a longstanding land boundary dispute, and offshore oil exploration has been abandoned. The world’s most dazzling island sovereignty question concerns the Spratly Islands, scattered over a vast area in the South China Sea. All the 500 or so features are claimed by China,Taiwan and Vietnam, thirty-three by the Philippines and twelve by Malaysia, while Brunei claims an area of seabed, but no islands.

Unfortunately, these terms have never been defined, nor has the requirement ‘not to depart to any appreciable extent from the general direction of the coast’ (Article 7.3). Because offshore limits are measured from either the low water mark or straight baselines, states are often tempted to make excessive claims inconsistent with the Convention. Geographers have proposed some sensible guidelines for straight baseline evaluation, but they have never been formally adopted (US Department of State 1987).Victor Prescott (1988) has made a significant contribution to the exposure of illegal baselines, while the United States has lodged objections to almost half the seventy straight baseline claims declared (Roach and Smith 1994: pp. 77–81).

Definition of geographical terms

Technical problems

Islands can cause headaches for negotiators in two other respects. First, UNCLOS 1982 defines an island as ‘a naturally formed area of land surrounded by water which is above water at high tide’ (Article 21.7), whereas rocks which cannot sustain human habitation or economic life of their own shall have no exclusive economic zone or continental shelf’ (Article 121.3). Not surprisingly, there are arguments about what is an island and what is a ‘rock’. Genuine islands give states the right to surrounding EEZ and seabed, whereas rocks give only limited advantages in territorial waters (up to 12 miles offshore) and no advantage elsewhere. Second, negotiators must agree on what weight to give to islands when delimiting a boundary. Depending on size and location, islands may be given the same effect as mainland, or half effect, partial effect, or no effect at all. Many overlapping maritime claims occur because states give more weight to their own islands than to those of their neighbour.

Both land and maritime boundary disputes can arise for technical reasons, sometimes because those involved in negotiations have insufficient training or have not consulted technical experts. Accessible publications on technical aspects of boundary delimitation are published by the International Boundaries Research Unit in Durham (Adler 1995; Beazley 1994). The International Hydrographic Organisation has published the standard work on the subject (IHO 1990). Some examples of what can go wrong are:

Excessive baseline claims

Another common cause of offshore disputes is the adoption of excessive baselines. Coastal states are permitted to use straight baselines along coastlines that are ‘deeply indented or cut into, or if there is a fringe of islands along the coast in its immediate vicinity’ (UNCLOS 1982, Article 7.1).

•

•

Misunderstanding nautical charts, especially the properties of the Mercator projection. Scale increases with latitude, boundary lengths are difficult to measure, and a straight line drawn on such a chart does not represent the shortest distance between two points (i.e. the geodesic line). Matching geodetic datums. The regular geometrical shape approximating the shape of the Earth used for practical mapping and surveying is known as the ellipsoid. In the past, (especially) national surveys used ellipsoids of different shapes and sizes. Coordinates derived from one system have to be matched with those from another. The geodetic datum used is often not stated in boundary agreements, and confusion results.

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Tidal datums. States adopt different criteria for the measurement of low water marks, which can affect the definition of low-tide elevations, and the selection of basepoints for baseline delimitation.

BOUNDARY DISPUTES AND DISPUTE RESOLUTION Unresolved disputes

Four unresolved disputes (two land and two maritime) are briefly outlined in this section to illustrate why certain boundary disputes can be

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difficult to resolve. Where inter-state relationships are poor, perhaps for historical or ideological reasons, negotiations may be impossible or extremely difficult, as China-India and GreeceTurkey illustrate. Where the territory or seabed in question is of high economic potential (Cambodia-Thailand, Saudi Arabia-Yemen, for example) or is regarded as strategically critical (China-India, Greece-Turkey), compromise is unlikely. Significantly, too, in all the chosen examples there are perplexing legal, historical and geotechnical questions, which require time, money and expertise to answer. By contrast, Boxes 26.1 to 26.4 illustrate four disputes that have been successfully resolved, although there were

Box 26.1 France-United Kingdom continental shelf (Resolved by a Court of Arbitration, June 1977.) France and the United Kingdom (UK) could not agree on a continental shelf boundary in the western approaches to the English Channel, and in 1975 they asked a Court of Arbitration for a solution. The chief problems were how far to take into account the UK Channel Islands lying close to the French coast, Eddystone Rock and the Scilly Isles (both UK features), and the French isle of Ushant (Figure 26.3). The court’s decision was announced in June 1997. The Channel Islands were enclaved within twelve mile territorial seas, and median lines with the French mainland to south and east, while Eddystone was

recognised as a legitimate basepoint. Because of their distance beyond UK territorial waters, the Scillies were given only half effect. This was achieved by drawing a line following the French and UK mainlands, and another treating the islands as mainland. A line was drawn to bisect these two equidistant lines (Francalanci and Scovazzi 1994: pp. 238–9). In March 1978, the court made adjustments to the line as a result of UK complaints that the court line was a loxodrome, or straight line, on a Mercator chart that took no account of the curvature of the Earth. At its western extremity, it lay four nautical miles north of the correct position and was accordingly adjusted in favour of the UK (Jagota 1985: pp. 140–55). Figure 26.3 The France–United Kingdom continental shelf boundary (resolved 1977, 1978).

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Box 26.2 Canada-United States Gulf of Maine maritime boundary (Resolved by a Chamber of the International Court of Justice, October1984.) The Gulf of Maine is geographically complex and of considerable economic importance because of the rich fisheries on George’s Bank. Canada and the USA tried very hard to delimit a maritime boundary there but after five fruitless years of negotiation, in 1981 they asked a Chamber of the ICJ to delimit a single continental shelf and fisheries boundary. It was a formidable task. The Canadians claimed a median line between mainland coasts, giving them a large part of George’s Bank. The USA argued for a line perpendicular to the general direction of the coast and for control of the whole of George’s Bank (Figure 26.4). More scientific, legal, economic, social and historical data were assembled to support the arguments of the parties than for any similar

case. It took nearly four years for the evidence to be prepared and the case heard. In the event, geographical considerations were of paramount importance. The court rendered its judgement in October 1984, proposing a line in three sectors. A—B was delimited by drawing the bisector of an angle determined by perpendiculars to the general direction of the adjacent coasts. B—C started as an equidistance line between opposite coasts but was adjusted in the ratio of 1.32:1 in favour of the USA to reflect the greater length of the US coast in this sector. C—D was determined as a perpendicular to the closing line of the gulf, to a distance of 200 nautical miles offshore. The sector between the land boundary and point A remains undelimited because of a sovereignty dispute over Machias Seal Island (Charney and Alexander 1993: pp. 401–16). Figure 26.4 The Canada– United States maritime boundary in the Gulf of Maine (resolved 1984).

extremely tr icky issues to settle. The most important aspect, however, was the political will of the parties to reach a peaceful agreement. China-India

The 2500 mile (4000 km) China-India boundary (Figure 26.7) involves 32,000 square miles (83,000

km2) of contested territory. Apart from size, the dispute has some potent ingredients for a dangerous confrontation, including a remote mountain environment, geostrategic objectives, ideological differences, and the legacy of British imperial involvement. Although the problems go back at least to the beginning of the century, Chinese claims were not pressed until after the

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Box 26.3 Chad-Libya boundary in the Sahara (Resolved by the International Court of Justice, February 1994.) The boundary dispute between Chad and Libya came to a head in June 1973, when Libya’s troops occupied 11,000 km2 of northern Chad known as the Aouzou Strip. There were exaggerated reports at the time of uranium, iron ore and other riches in the region to help to explain Libya’s action. Libya relied politically on a 1935 boundary agreement between the French and Italians by which the area was ceded to Italian-occupied Libya. In return, Italian claims to parts of French-occupied Tunisia were dropped. Neither state ratified the agreement, however, partly because the Second World War broke out in 1939, and it seems to have been forgotten until the 1970s. The dispute was referred to the ICJ in 1990. In its submission,

Libya surprised the court by invoking Ottoman history and the influence of the Senoussi Order to claim Chad as far south as 15° north (Figure 26.5). After three and a half years, the ICJ gave its judgement in February 1994. The Chad-Libya boundary had been confirmed by a Treaty of Friendship and Good Neighbourliness concluded by the parties in August 1955, which recognised boundaries in place at the time of Libyan independence in 1950. Franco-British conventions of 1898 and 1919 had clearly established the boundary, and the Aouzou region was south of the boundary with Chad. In due course, Libya withdrew from the Aouzou Strip in accordance with the findings of the court (Blake 1994b). Figure 26.5 The Chad–Libya boundary (resolved 1994).

Communist Revolution in 1949. Half a dozen areas are claimed by China, the largest being Aksai Chin in the west and Arunchal Pradesh in the east. China took military action on several occasions in the 1950s and 1960s, culminating in a border war in 1962 in which the Chinese gained control of the strategic Aksai Chin region. Aksai Chin now provides a vital road link between Tibet and China’s Sinkiang province (Allcock et al. 1992: pp. 428–39). Much of the China-India problem turns on the validity of the McMahon line, which India regards as marking its northernmost limits, but

China does not. Sir Henry McMahon proposed the line at the Simla Conference (1913–14), convened to discuss the status of Tibet. It seems doubtful whether the McMahon line is a legitimate claim, but it has never been put to the test. Several efforts have been made to resolve the border problem in bilateral talks, the most encouraging of which resulted in reopening the border in 1991 after being closed for thirty years, and subsequent border troop reduction agreements.

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Box 26.4 Argentina-Chile boundary in the southern Andes (Resolved by British arbitration, 1902, 1966 and 1994.) In 1855, Argentina and Chile formally agreed to accept that the boundaries they inherited from Spain in 1810 (a doctrine known as Uti possidetis). The precise alignment of the inherited boundaries was not clear, however, and brought the countries close to conflict on several occasions. An agreement signed in Buenos Aires in July 1881 was an attempt to settle the Andes boundary, which ‘shall run… over the highest summits of the said Cordilleras which divide the waters’ (Boggs 1940: pp. 85– 93). Closer examination revealed that the watershed and the highest peaks do not coincide, because of headward erosion by the steeper and stronger streams flowing

westwards to the Chilean coast. In some areas, the watershed was far to the east of the highest peaks; thus Chile favoured a watershed boundary and Argentina the highest peaks (Figure 26.6). The parties asked the British monarch to arbitrate in 1896, and after exhaustive field surveys a compromise line was proposed by a British commission in 1902, which largely avoids the watershed or the highest peaks. Argentina gained 15,450 square miles and Chile 20,850 square miles of formerly disputed territory. Ambiguities were subsequently revealed in two relatively short sectors around Palena and Laguna del Desierto, which were resolved by British-led commissions in 1966 and 1994, respectively. Figure 26.6 The ArgentineChile boundary in the southern Andes (resolved 1902, 1996, 1994).

Saudi Arabia-Yemen

Saudi Arabia and the Republic of Yemen are engaged in a major territorial dispute, which the parties have tried to resolve in high-level talks since 1993. Political relations between the two states have rarely been good, in spite of a degree of economic interdependence.Yemen was formed in

1990 by the unification of the Yemen Arab Republic (North Yemen) and the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (South Yemen), which had been ruled by Britain as the Aden Protectorate until 1967. Saudi Arabia and North Yemen agreed on part of their boundary by the Treaty of Taif (1934), which runs mostly through populous mountain regions, but no boundary was

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Figure 26.7 The China-India boundary dispute.

Figure 26.8 The Saudi Arabian-Yemen boundary dispute.

ever agreed east of the Taif line. Here the border region is sparsely populated, gravelly or sandy desert. Neither party seems ready to compromise, not least because of the discovery of large oil deposits, especially in the central section.

A complex series of claims have been made in the contested region since the early years of the century. They are all straight lines although tribal allegiances to Saudi Arabia or Yemen are allegedly the basis of the claims. Figure 26.8 shows the

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substantial difference between their claims.The two states have been effectively operating a border zone that is much narrower and lies somewhat between the two extremes. Oil concessions have been made by both states close to the contested boundary, and in 1993 the Saudi government warned foreign oil companies operating on behalf of Yemen that they were inside Saudi territory (Schofield 1994: p. 26). Another problem revealed in discussions was that the Treaty of Taif boundary will have to be resurveyed and demarcated. Since 1934 it has been neglected, and the pillars lost, stolen or destroyed, a classic demonstration of the need to manage agreed international boundaries once they are in place. Greece-Turkey

Centuries of rivalry between Christian Greece and Moslem Turkey help to explain the bitterness of their dispute over maritime boundary delimitation in the Aegean Sea (Figure 26.9). The Turkish invasion of Cyprus in 1974 and subsequent division of the island into Greek Cypriot and Turkish Cypriot areas has deepened the degree of animosity.

Tension has remained high in the Aegean since Turkey attempted oil exploration in contested waters in 1976. On that occasion and again in 1986, Greece and Turkey threatened to go to war, and the dispute remains potentially dangerous in 1998. Following the defeat of the Ottoman Turkish empire in the First World War, the Treaty of Lausanne (1923) deprived Turkey of all but a handful of islands within three miles of its mainland coast. Greece, on the other hand, possesses hundreds of islands and islets, some of which are very close to the Turkish coast. Although island sovereignty is a grievance in Turkey, it is not the basis of the Turkish quarrel with Greece. According to the 1982 UN Convention on the Law of the Sea, the Greek islands are entitled to up to twelve nautical miles of territorial sea, and to the resources of the adjacent continental shelf. At present, Greece claims only six nautical miles of territorial sea, but that means that almost 44 per cent of the Aegean already falls into Greek territorial waters; with a twelve mile limit, it would exceed 71 per cent (Allcock et al. 1992: p. 102).Turkey sees the Aegean Figure 26.9 The GreeceTurkey dispute in the Aegean Sea.

BOUNDARY DISPUTES as geographically a special case; geologically, the Aegean is regarded as the ‘natural prolongation’ of Anatolia, and Turkey should therefore enjoy continental shelf rights up to a median line between the mainlands.Turkey would gladly allow a six mile territorial sea for the Greek islands, but it demands access to the seabed and its resources between the islands to the median line. Turkey is also deter mined to maintain freedom of movement for ships and aircraft in the Aegean, and would regard a Greek extension of territorial waters to twelve miles as a casus belt. There have been spasmodic talks about these fundamental questions, but no progress has been made. In 1975, Greece and Turkey agreed to place the matter

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before the International Court of Justice—but could not even agree on the terms of reference. Cambodia-Thailand

The prospect of hydrocarbons in the Gulf of Thailand (Figure 26.10) began a rush of maritime boundary claims by the coastal states of Thailand, Cambodia, Malaysia and Vietnam in the 1970s. These claims were not always well considered and were complicated by the shape of the gulf, coastal lengths, and the size and location of islands. Today, over 30 per cent of the Gulf of Thailand is subject to overlapping claims. The Cambodia-Thailand case illustrates the kind of problem. Cambodia’s line Figure 26.10 The Cambodia-Thailand seabed dispute in the Gulf of Thailand.

Source: Adapted from Prescott 1998 by permission of MIMA.

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westwards from the land boundary cuts across the Thai island of Koh Kut. Thailand, on the other hand, gives maximum advantage to Koh Kut while conveniently discounting Cambodia’s offshore islands. An equidistance line taking into account all features gives yet another result. The seabed contested between the Cambodian and Thai claims is 19,900 km2. Gas and possible oil deposits have been discovered near the boundary, and the difference in potential hydrocarbon revenues could be colossal.Talks have been convened on a number of occasions in the 1990s to find a solution, without success. Eventually, the two states might propose a joint development zone modelled on the 1992 Thailand-Malaysia agreement. Boundary dispute resolution

The most common means of dispute resolution is through bilateral negotiation, which has the merit of immediacy and economy, and states retain control over the process. In particularly tough cases, a third party may be called in to assist through mediation or conciliation. Failing this, the dispute may be taken to arbitration, either by a tribunal established for the purpose or by an established authority such as the Organisation of African Unity. Some of the most problematic cases may be settled by costly litigation before the ICJ or the International Tribunal for the Law of the Sea (ITLOS). Many disputes are resolved through negotiations, although the process may be timeconsuming and hard. Paul Huth’s invaluable analysis of 116 land boundary disputes between 1945 and 1990 suggests that fifty-seven disputes were resolved, fewer than a dozen of which involved arbitration or litigation (Huth 1996: pp. 195–239). Although nearly half the disputes were settled, it was no easy matter. In fifty-five cases, there had been armed confrontations, sometimes repeatedly, while over 80 per cent had dragged on for more than ten years, one-third of them for over thirty years (Huth 1996: p. 31). Overall, approximately one in three of the world’s land boundaries were contested to some degree in the 1945–1990 period, and the proportion remains much the same in 1998.

There is a good chance that more and more boundary disputes will be resolved peacefully in future, for a number of reasons. First, there are proven mechanisms to assist with dispute resolution, including notably the ICJ, and ITLOS in Hamburg. Second, there are strong economic incentives to avoid conflict, especially where oil company investment is sought to explore for hydrocarbons. Third, modern technology such as GPS and geographical information systems (GIS) are facilitating more accurate and rapid boundary delimitation. Fourth, more alternatives to absolute state sovereignty are emerging as valuable interim measures to avoid conflict. On land, there are wellestablished buffer zones, international zones, protected areas, demilitarised zones, no-fly zones and neutral zones.There are also a growing number of transboundary collaborative ventures requiring the surrender of an element of sovereignty in particular activities in borderlands (Blake 1994a). Most significant of all perhaps are the sixteen joint development zones at sea, several of which were established following failure of boundary negotiations in the spirit of Article 83.3 of the 1982 UN Convention on the Law of the Sea requiring states to enter into ‘provisional arrangements of a practical nature’ in the absence of a boundary agreement. Most have been remarkably successful, and they provide encouraging evidence that states are finding new ways to organise political space, which offers hope for the future. CONCLUSION

Geographers have been very much involved with international land boundaries for a century or more, sometimes with considerable distinction. In the past, they took part in delimitation and demarcation commissions, wrote academic commentaries, and drew and interpreted maps. Indeed, few activities lent themselves so well to the application of geographical skills. More recently, geographers have been in demand for their knowledge of maps and cartography, and the application of GPS and GIS in the preparation of cases and as expert witnesses. As described above, geographical training is also extremely valuable in maritime boundary

BOUNDARY DISPUTES delimitations. For the future, there may be a shift of emphasis from delimitation questions to functional problems, from the boundary line to borderlands. Geographers can contribute much to understanding the dynamics of borders and borderlands, to ensure that borderlands develop as regions of opportunity and not zones of deprivation. None of this implies that the geographical community is either for or against boundaries as we have known them; as long as they are there, we wish them to be managed as peacefully as possible.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Malcolm Anderson (1996) Frontiers:Territory and State Formation in the Modern World. Cambridge: Polity Press. A balanced and highly digestible introduction, including thirty pages on Asian and African disputes. J.B.Allcock et al. (eds) (1992) Border and Territorial Disputes, 3rd edn. Harlow: Longman. An excellent and reliable summary of most of the key disputes worldwide. Boundary and Security Bulletin. This quarterly journal published by the International Boundaries Research Unit in Durham monitors boundary disputes worldwide in its news section, and includes articles on boundary matters. George Demko and William Wood (eds) (1994) Reordering the World: Geopolitical Perspectives on the 21st Century. Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press. A superb collection of essays providing a progressive geographical backdrop for boundary disputes. S.B.Jones (1945) Boundary-Making: A Handbook for Statesmen, Treaty Editors and Boundary Commissioners. Washington: Carnegie Endowment. A classic work by a geographer, and a goldmine for border scholars. If you find one buy it! J.R.Victor Prescott (1985) The Maritime Political Boundaries of the World. London: Methuen. J.R.Victor Prescott (1987) Political Frontiers and Boundaries. London: Allen and Unwin. Two standard texts by the world’s leading geographer on international boundaries.

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REFERENCES Adler, R. (1995) Positioning and Mapping International Land Boundaries. Boundary and Territory Briefing 2(1). Durham: International Boundaries Research Unit. Beazley, P. (1994) Technical Aspects of Maritime Boundary Delimitation. Mar itime Br iefing 1(2). Durham: International Boundaries Research Unit. Biger, G. (ed.) (1995) The Encyclopedia of International Boundaries. New York: Facts on File. Blake, G.H. (1994a) International transboundary ventures. In W.A.Gallusser (ed.) Political Boundar ies and Coexistence. Berne: Peter Lang, 359–71. Blake, G.H. (1994b) The International Court of Justice Ruling on the Chad-Libya dispute. Boundary and Security Bulletin 2(1), 80–3. Blake, G.H. (1995) The mapping of international boundaries. Society of University Cartographers Bulletin 28(2), 1–7. Blake, G.H., Hildesley, W.J., Pratt, M.A., Ridley, R.J. and Schofield, C.H. (eds) (1995) The Peaceful Management of Transboundary Resources. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff. Boggs, S.W. (1940) International Boundaries: A Study of Boundary Functions and Problems. New York: Columbia University Press. Charney, J.A. and Alexander, L.M. (eds) (1993; 1998) International Maritime Boundaries Vols 1 and 2, 1993;Vol. 3, 1998. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff. Foucher, M. (1988) Fronts et frontieres. Paris: Fayard. Francalanci, G. and Scovazzi, T. (eds) (1994) Lines in the Sea. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff. Glassner, M.I. (1993) Political Geography. New York: John Wiley. Gallusser, W.A. (ed.) (1994) Political Boundaries and Coexistence. Proceedings of the IGU Symposium Basle, 24–27 May 1994. Berne: Peter Lane. Goertz, G. and Diehl, P.F. (1992) Territorial Changes and International Conflict. London: Routledge. Griggs, R. and Hocknell, P. (1995) Fourth World Faultlines and the Remaking of ‘International’ boundaries. Boundary and Security Bulletin 3(3), 49–58. Huth, P.K. (1996) Standing Your Ground: Territorial Disputes and International Conflict. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. International Hydrographic Organisation (IHO) (1990) Manual on Technical Aspects of the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea. Monaco: International Hydrographic Bureau. Jagota, S.P. (1985) Maritime Boundary. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff.

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Kolossov, V.A., Glezer, O. and Petrov, N. (1992) EthnoTerritorial Conflicts and Boundaries in the Former Soviet Union. Boundary and Territory Briefing. Durham: International Boundaries Research Unit, pp. 1–51. Luard, E. (ed.) (1970) International Regulation of Frontier Disputes. NewYork: Praeger. McDorman,T.L. and Chircop, A. (1991) The resolution of maritime boundary disputes. In E.Gold (ed.) Maritime Affairs:A World Handbook, 2nd edn, Harlow: Longman. Prescott, J.R.V. (1988) The Gulf of Thailand. Kuala Lumpur: The Maritime Institute of Malaysia. Prescott, J.R.V. (1996) Contributions of the United Nations to solving boundary and territorial disputes, 1945–1995. Political Geography 15(3/4), 287–318. Prescott, J.R.V. (1998) National rights to hydrocarbon resources of the continental margin beyond 200 nautical miles. In G.H.Blake, M.Pratt, C. Schofield and J.A.Brown (eds) Boundaries and Energy: Problems and Prospects, London: Kluwer Law International, 51–82.

Roach, J.A. and Smith, R.W. (1994) United States Responses to Excessive Maritime Claims, 2nd edn, The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff. Rushworth, D. (1997) Mapping in support of frontier arbitration. Boundary and Security Bulletin 5(3), 55–60. Schofield, R.N. (ed.) (1994) Territorial Foundations of the Gulf States. London: UCL Press. Smith, R.W. and Thomas, B.L. (1998) Island Disputes and the Law of the Sea: An Examination of Sovereignty and Delimitation Disputes. Maritime Briefing 2(4). Durham: International Boundaries Research Units 1–27. Tägil, S. et al. (1977) Studying Boundary Conflicts. Lund Studies in International History, Lund: Essette Studium. United Nations (1982) Convention on the Law of the Sea. New York: United Nations Publications. US Department of State (1987) Developing Standard Guidelines for Evaluation of Straight Baselines. Limits in the Seas No. 106. Washington: Bureau of Oceans and International Environmental and Scientific Affairs.

27 Political spaces and representation within the state Ron Johnston regional geographers may perhaps be trying to put boundaries that do not exist around areas that do not matter. (Kimble 1951:159) ‘Region’ is one of the commonest words in the geographical lexicon, adopted by adherents to a range of different philosophies within the discipline as a key concept with which their area of study can be identified. Much effort has been expended on the definition of regions, a great deal of it ad hoc. To some, defining and describing regions is the highest form of the geographer’s art (Hart 1982), whereas to others, like Kimble (1951), regions are largely irrelevant, geographers’ constructions of reality rather than reality itself: those constructions may become reality, however, as illustrated in this chapter. Two major types of region have been identified. Formal regions are relatively homogeneous areas on one or more predetermined characteristics— whether physical (such as climatic regions), humanmade (social areas, say), or both (landscapes). Their definition involves determining the salient criteria, mapping those over the selected area and defining the boundaries around the separate regions, either subjectively, using a single identifier (such as the number of frost-free days per annum), or by statistical procedures based on the analysis of variance, in which the units within each region are more like each other than they are like the units in adjacent regions.The result is a mosaic of areas, with each relatively homogeneous internally. Functional regions are defined on a more limited range of

characteristics, usually flows: the goal is to define areas dominated by a particular flow pattern— usually focused on a node (hence the alternative term ‘nodal region’). The outcome is a set of regions (which may not each comprise single contiguous blocks of territory), each focused on a particular core— such as the hinterland of a shopping centre or market town and the commuter-shed of a factory or industrial estate. From Kimble on, some geographers have argued that both types of region are largely irrelevant in the contemporary world, because of the growing interconnectedness of life, frequently expressed in relatively vague concepts such as ‘globalisation’ and ‘the global village’. Against this, it is argued that regions are crucial elements of the structuring of economic, social, cultural and political life, for three main reasons: 1

2

Regions (or places, or localities) provide the contexts within which most people are socialised, particularly although not only during the early years of their lives. We learn to be people in contexts that are both culturally and territorially defined, and from those among whom most of our daily interactions take place. Local cultures are spatially constrained—at a variety of scales—and their structuration (i.e. their creation and continual recreation) is the basic cause of the complex mosaic of cultural regions that comprises the contemporary world. Although information technology allows the rapid movement of ideas and abstract commodities (such as money) around the world

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almost instantaneously, and virtual reality will allow people to co-locate even when they are physically apart, nevertheless many constraints to human movement limit the areas within which regular journeys—such as the journey to work and the journey to shop—can be made. Severe limits to where a person can move to from a set base within a defined period will remain crucial for many years, imposing important constraints on the organisation of economic, cultural, social and political activity: functional regions, however much they overlap, are a key component of the spatial structures within which lives are necessarily organised. Territoriality is a key strategy for programmes of control (Sack 1986). Bounded spaces can be defined physically, and power over people exercised within them relatively easily— compared with the alternative of exerting power and influence over people, wherever they are. Such areas provide both refuges and prospects —safe havens, retreats from which unwanted potential trespassers can be excluded, and yet also outlooks on the ‘world outside’. Surveillance is feasible, allowing control to be exercised. For these and a range of other reasons, states, which are institutionalised apparatus for the exercise of power, influence and control, are all associated with bounded territories —and since it is widely accepted that states are necessary to the operation of complex societies, it follows that a division of the world into bounded territories within which their power strategies can be exercised is a necessary component of spatial structure.

Regions, both formal and functional, are thus key elements in the organisation of many aspects of society, therefore, from the individual right up to the nation-state and its emerging successor, the international regime.

communities and nation-states are structured. People want to live in communities with similar others—hence the processes of separation that mark the creation of distinct residential districts in urban areas. Their residents (often identified as communities) also want to be represented separately in relevant democratic forums and decision-making arenas: they want to ensure not only that their separate points of view are heard but also that they are allocated sufficient representation to ensure that they are influential. Thus regions, or communities of interest, are central elements to the structuring of daily lifeworlds and their political representation, at a variety of scales. Regions are also important to the state’s internal structuring. Territoriality is a key strategy in the exercise of state power and is as important to their internal as it is to their external relations. Most states are too extensive for all aspects of administration to be undertaken from a single point. Central control needs to be allied with local application, allowing easier surveillance at local scales (whether in the maintenance of law and order, as with policing, or in the implementation of policies, such as tax collection); easier appreciation of local needs and requirements, which can be catered for separately from that undertaken in other areas; and the ability to involve local people in the governance of their home areas by making it locally accountable.Thus all states have a local state apparatus, with various degrees of independence from the central state; most local state apparatus comprises a complex, overlapping system of administrative and governmental areas, including all-purpose (within constitutional limits) local governments, for example single-purpose local governments, and ad hoc quangos serving areas defined for that purpose alone. The political impulse

REGIONS IN CONTEMPORARY SOCIETY

Given this general argument, regional definition is clearly a necessary component of how people,

Regions, broadly defined as separate territorial segments of space, are crucial elements in the structuration of many aspects of social organisation. It should follow that as the study of

POLITICAL SPACES AND REPRESENTATION regions is a central element of the geographical discipline, then the definition of regions for a var iety of pur poses should be based on geographical appreciation and methods. A major caveat has to be inserted at this stage of the argument, however, one that is particularly relevant to regions that are part of the state apparatus. As pure scientists, geographers adopt objective stances to their subject matter—so that in defining regions they operate the sequence outlined above (determining the criteria then delimiting the boundaries): the resulting regional definitions are answerable only to the predetermined criteria. But as applied scientists, geographers invited to define regions are often asked to delimit areas that fit a particular need, which may not easily be integrated with their credentials of objectivity and neutrality. People wanting a region to be defined usually require it to serve a particular purpose that fits their political agenda; the geographers employed to advise on the boundary-drawing process may feel under pressure to compromise their ‘scientific credentials’ in order to produce what is wanted by the political bodies who commissioned the regionalisation— or their own political agenda may lead them to adopt such compromises. This difficulty is exacerbated because even ‘objective’ scientific methods for regionalisation call for subjectivity in determining and applying criteria (on which Johnston (1968) is still relevant).Very few regions are clearly delimited on the ground, especially where human decision making is involved: few residential areas are entirely homogeneous in their population characteristics, for example; many people prefer to shop at centres other than those patronised by the majority of their neighbours, or to commute to workplaces well outside the area that constrains most of their fellow residents; and most agricultural regions include some farms whose managers operate different regimes from their neighbours, even though the objective conditions in which they operate are the same. In other words, the definition of regions is a fuzzy activity: there is rarely a single right answer. Given this combination of political needs and a multitude of acceptable answers, we can

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appreciate that although regional definition is a central geographical activity, relatively few geographers have been involved in the political task of regional boundary drawing: the task is too sensitive to leave to ‘objective scientists’. This argument is developed with a number of brief case studies.

DEFINING REGIONS: THE GEOGRAPHER’S DILEMMA

Consider the problem of defining regions on a crucial criterion, their residents’ racial-ethnic status. Very few areas are racially homogeneous, certainly very few areas of any considerable spatial extent within a continental land mass (Mikesell and Murphy 1991): over time, various social and other processes produce intermixing, unless strong policies of ghettoisation (i.e. regionalisation with strong surveillance mechanisms) are imposed—as in South Africa’s notorious apartheid policy, which separated the races at the individual scale (banning inter-racial sexual conduct and marriage), at the scale of individual buildings and vehicles (post offices had separate counters for blacks and whites, and trains had separate carriages), in residential areas (blacks could live in defined townships only), in workplaces (occupations were reserved to either blacks or whites), and by ‘nation’ of residence (all blacks were allocated to a homeland, of which they were citizens, and they could enter ‘white South Africa’ only with passes). If the Republic of South Africa for forty years of its recent history is a paradigm example of explicit political regionalisation based on homogeneous areas, the Balkans is a clear example of the counter case—a racially very mixed area, where defining homogeneous regions based on population character istics is fraught with difficulties. This was apparent when the modern system of nation-states was being created in the area under the Treaty of Versailles, which redrew the world political map after the First World War. A Serbian geographer (Johan Cvijic) was involved in this unenviable task, but his work was strongly influenced by political considerations reflecting

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both his own opinions and those of the people who employed him. One of the areas under dispute between several countries was Macedonia, where ‘the Albanian, Greek, Bulgarian and Serbian linguistic provinces meet and overlap, and where in addition exclaves of Romanian and Turkish speech are found’ (Wilkinson 1951:3). In the early years of the twentieth century, Serbia laid claim to the area, as part of its expansionist policies, and one of its main tools in this was cartographic evidence that the residents were part of the Serbian linguistic province. Several of those maps, some of which influenced diplomats from other countries, especially after the First World War, were drawn by Cvijic. Wilkinson presents five of them (Figure 27.1), on which basis he accuses Cvijic of ‘gross inconsistency’ (p. 176): Even scientists of the highest personal integrity were guilty of the practice of misrepresentation, excusing themselves on the ground that the end justified the means. In some cases, notably that of J.Cvijic, an unmerited, perhaps unconscious rationalization of false distr ibutions was prompted by the irresistible spirit of patriotism of the period. As Figure 27.1 shows, Cvijic extended the Serb area southwards by adopting the concept of Macedo-Slavs, a group previously regarded as Bulgarian: this idea was not widely accepted in 1908 but gained greater support later (according to Wilkinson, after 1918, ‘the popularity of his ethnographic map knew no bounds’ in western Europe: p. 182): his 1913 map was ‘designed to support Serbia’s plan for a reorganisation of the Western Balkans’ (ibid.: 180) and had a major impact on the final process of boundary drawing there, with the consequence that ‘the Slavs of Serbian Macedonia were denied any freedom of self-expression, and for all practical purposes were held to be Serbian in culture and in national outlook’ (p. 235). Defining such a political map may advance one ‘national interest’, but in many cases it may do no more than contain inter-community strife while

surveillance and power can be exercised. This occurred with the 1919 creation of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, one of whose component states—Bosnia-Herzegovina—contained a complex mosaic of regions (some far from homogeneous) occupied by members of three separate ethnic communities: Croats, Serbs, and Muslims. While surveillance was strict their differences were contained, but collapse of the Yugoslav state in the 1980s and the Serbs’ growing hegemonic project stimulated war, plus ethnic cleansing strategies whereby the dominant group in an area excluded the others to create an ‘ethnically pure’ region. Ending that strife and creating a new political map was a major problem, which increasingly it seemed could not be resolved locally, and international mediation was introduced. Two politicians involved in that tortuous mediation process for several years were David Owen, a former UK Foreign Secretary and leader of the Social Democratic Party, and Cyrus Vance, a for mer US Secretary of State. The racial composition of the country’s opstina before ‘ethnic cleansing’ began is shown in Figure 27.2. Owen and Vance discussed five options for restructuring the state apparatus and chose ‘a centralized federal state with significant functions carried out by between four and ten regions’ (Owen 1996:65) as ‘the best compromise…since much of the predicted intercommunal friction could be kept from the central government by giving the provinces competence over the most divisive issues, e.g. police, education, health and culture, while depriving them of the right to be a state within a state’. Defining those provinces was a key regionalisation task: they decided on ten, which were largely groups of contiguous opstina although with ‘corridors’ in some places dividing them (Figure 27.3). This plan failed for a range of political reasons (on which see Owen 1996) and the ethnic cleansing continued, resulting in a very different ethnic map (Figure 27.4), which formed the basis for a final division into two separate republics within a federal state after the Dayton accords were signed in November 1995 (Figure 27.5). One of those republics, the Muslim-Croat

POLITICAL SPACES AND REPRESENTATION Figure 27.1 Cvijic’s five ethnographic maps of the Macedonia area.

Source: Wilkinson 1951: reprinted with the author’s permission.

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Figure 27.2 The ethnic map of Bosnia-Herzegovina before c.1990.

Source: Owen 1996.

Federation, was itself divided into ten cantons to reflect the ethnic diversity, whereas the other— Republica Sprska—was over 98 per cent Serb. The extremes involved in political regionalisation within states exemplified by apartheid in South Africa and ethnic cleansing in Bosnia-Herzegovina are not repeated in many other places, but such deviant cases bring into sharp focus the problems common to most regionalisations. Constituencies as regions

Government of most liberal democracies involves legislative assemblies popularly elected from

territorial constituencies. In some, like the UK and the USA, those constituencies each return a single member to represent a separate (almost invariably contiguous) block of territory: there are currently 659 in the UK House of Commons and 435 in the US House of Representatives. Because of the criteria on which they are based, the constituency maps have to be redrawn regularly: a new set of regions has to be defined. Those criteria are embodied in four concepts of fairness, which underpin many ‘theories’ of democratic representation.

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Figure 27.3 The February 1993 Vance-Owen plan for dividing Bosnia-Herzegovina.

Source: Owen 1996.

•

•

Fairness to individuals. All citizens should have equal power, with each person’s vote worth the same as everybody else’s: if that is not the case, then unequal power to influence the outcome of an election results and some preferences carry less weight than others. To meet this criterion, constituencies should have equal-sized electorates. Fairness to communities. A state’s civil society is not an aggregation of atomised individuals but

•

comprises separate geographically defined communities with their own cultures and interests. Each should be represented, otherwise power is not fairly distributed among society’s major interest groups: if those communities are spatially delimited, the fairness criterion can be met by making community and constituency boundaries coterminous. Fairness to minorities. Few national societies are culturally homogeneous; most contain one or

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Figure 27.4 The ethnic map of Bosnia-Herzegovina in October 1995.

Source: Owen 1996.

more separate minorities defined by criteria such as ethnicity, language and religion. National cohesion and stability depend on these minorities being fully integrated and equally treated within the society, frequently raising questions regarding either positive discrimination or affirmative action. The

design of electoral systems may involve ensuring that significant minority groups form a majority of the electorate in a proportion of constituencies, consistent with their relative size.

•

Fairness to political parties. Political parties are at the centre of contemporary liberal

Source: The Economist, 24 January 1998.

Figure 27.5 The changed ethic map of Bosnia-Herzergovinia and the division after the Dayton Accord.

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democracies for two main reasons: they provide stability for a government within a legislature, and continuity of support among a portion of the electorate. They are the focus of electorate mobilisation and government organisation, and therefore, it is argued, should achieve a level of representation in the legislature consistent with their electoral support—hence the term proportional representation.

Only the first two of these are implemented in the UK, through the rules for redistribution that the independent Boundary Commissions are required to apply under the Parliamentary Constituencies Act 1986. (The first criterion is violated by the rules, however, since Scotland and Wales are over-represented relative to England and Northern Ireland: such over-representation is not explicitly linked to the third criterion.) For each administrative area, the Commissions determine the number of constituencies they are entitled to and then draw up provisional recommendations for their composition using local government electoral wards as the building blocks. They are required to make constituencies as equal as is practicable in their number of electors (meeting the fairness to individuals criterion) and to respect local community ties (i.e. to group together areas with common interests, according to the second criterion). Those recommendations are subject to public consultation when the major participants are the political parties, which want to ensure constituencies are created to their electoral advantage; they may present alternatives to an assistant commissioner at a public local inquiry, whose report is used by the commission to deter mine whether to alter its provisional recommendations before making final recommendations to Parliament. (For a full discussion, see Rossiter et al. 1998.) Electoral considerations are crucial in the debates over alternative constituency configurations, therefore, as exemplified by the City of Sheffield (see Box 27.1). In the USA, there are no legal conditions defining how constituencies should be

deter mined, and separate procedures were developed in the various states. In the 1960s, however, the Supreme Court upheld cases brought by plaintiffs who claimed that congressional districts violated the equal protection clauses of the American Constitution because they had unequal electorates: malapportionment was outlawed, and districts with equal electorates were mandatory. Subsequent judgements made this a very stringent demand, culminating in a case that rejected a recommended redistricting of New Jersey—in which the congressional districts varied in their populations by less than 1 per cent around an average of more than 600,000—because plaintiffs showed that even greater equality was possible. Fair ness to individuals dominates US redistricting as a consequence of these judgements. Fairness to communities has not been claimed (in large part because States are equally represented in the Senate, irrespective of their size). Fairness to minorities became important after the 1960s civil rights movement and was interpreted in the states covered by the Voting Rights Act as requiring each to have a proportion of its Congressional Districts with a black majority equivalent to the black proportion of the State’s population (i.e. if 40 per cent of a State’s population is black and it has ten Congressional Districts, then four of them should have a black majority—what is known as the minority-majority requirement): recent decisions suggest that this requirement should not be implemented if to do so involves race as the predominant factor in the redistricting plan. Some interpret this as being the case if minoritymajority Districts are oddly-shaped but the task of choosing a set of Districts is extremely large and race may predominate even though there are no oddly shaped districts—as Box 27.2 shows. The fourth criterion—fairness to parties—has been introduced in some States, where the redistricting procedure was vested in the party controlling the State legislature and resulted in an ‘unfair’ outcome for the other party (two parties— Republican and Democratic— predominate in Amer ican politics). Legal complaints against such gerrymandering led to the

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Box 27.1 Redistricting Sheffield The size of the task faced by the UK Boundar y Commissions is illustrated by the city of Sheffield. During its Third Periodic Review of all constituencies, the Boundary Commission for England determined that Sheffield should have six parliamentar y constituencies, which would be combinations of city council wards (the commission always uses wards as the building blocks for creating constituencies: the wards, and their estimated Labour vote in 1979, are in

Figure 27.6A). Those six should be contiguous blocks of territory, and each should have an electorate as close as practicable to 65,753— the national electoral quota. The Commission’s provisional recommendations (Figure 27.6B) allowed up to 10 per cent variation around this norm. How many ways could six contiguous constituencies have been created out of the twenty-nine wards, within a 12 per cent variation around the average? A computer algorithm Figure 27.6 Redistricting Sheffield: (A) the wards and their political complexion (estimated Labour support); (B) the Boundary Commission’s provisional recommendations for six constituencies; (C) the Boundary Commission’s final recommendations.

Source: Johnston and Rossiter 1982.

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Box 27.1 continued identified 13,317 (Johnston and Rossiter 1982), indicating that the commission had a major task to identify that which it felt best met the various criteria it was supposed to meet. An important feature of the provisionally recommended six constituencies is that, if how Sheffield’s electors voted at the most recent (1980) local government elections was a reasonable guide to how they would vote in a general election, then four of those six were likely to be won by Labour and one by the Conservatives, compared with five for Labour and only two for their opponents in the most recent (1979) general election fought in the old constituencies. Statistically, this was something of a surprise since, as the following table shows, most of the possible ‘solutions’ would have retained the status quo of a 5:1 Labour victory.

appointment of independent individuals or bodies to produce more neutral configurations. In 1971, geographer Dick Morr ill was appointed to produce a plan for Washington state without any knowledge of what the two parties had proposed.

Clearly, the Labour Party wished to get this changed and presented an alternative scenario at the local inquiry, whereas the Conservatives sought to convince the Assistant Commissioner to recommend that the provisional recommendations be retained as the final version. In addition, two geographers presented independent evidence promoting a set of constituencies that were more equal in their electorates than that provisionally recommended, by 1980 electoral data if not those for 1976, which the Commission was using. This last formed the basis for the Assistant Commissioner’s recommendation for a different set of constituencies (Figure 27.6C), which was accepted by the Commission (and in which Labour won five seats at the next general election).

Table 27.1 shows the outcome for the 102-seat lower house of the Washington State legislature. In 1970, each party had won fifty-one seats, with slightly more of the Republicans’ than the Democrats’ being marginal. Each party’s plans

Box 27.2 Redistricting Mississippi The population of the State of Mississippi was around 40 per cent black in the 1960s, but none of the State’s five congressional districts defined in 1966 had a black majority, the main area of black population (the Delta region) being split between four of the five districts. This ‘disenfranchisement’ of the blacks was continued in the State’s districting plans after the 1970 and 1980 censuses, but the latter was challenged under the Voting Rights Act in 1981 and a court created a black majority district in the Delta region; this was largely retained after the 1990 census, and the district has been won by a black candidate since 1986. What is the likelihood of a districting plan for Mississippi including no black majority district, given the size of the black population and its concentration in one part of the State? This question was addressed using a similar computer method to that employed by Johnston and Rossiter (1982) in Sheffield. The ‘building blocks’ used in American redistricting are much smaller than the wards used in the UK, and although the equal size criterion is much more rigorously applied, the number of possible districting plans is very large—even if other constraints, such as ‘shapeliness’ and not splitting counties, are also applied. The procedure allowed only a 1 per cent maximum deviation around the average

population for the five districts, and generated 100,000 separate plans. In half of these, at least one district had a black majority, and sixty-eight had two. The implication is that a districting plan for Mississippi without a black majority would be suspect, with the boundaries having been drawn to prevent a black representative being elected from the State (a classic example of a negative gerrymander). But none of the 100,000 plans generated through the computer-intensive method produced a district with as large a black population as District 2 in Figure 27.7, suggesting that blacks were ‘packed in’ to it; a larger black majority district had been created by careful cartography than was likely to occur by chance. Given that the adopted plan splits more than three times as many counties as do plans created by the ‘County-conscious algorithms’, the results suggest that race was given undue precedence over preservation of the integrity of political subdivisions. In this case study, computer programs have been used, not to generate a solution to a regionalisation problem, therefore, but rather to provide a datum against which to evaluate regionalisations. By creating a large frequency distribution—a sample of all possible regionalisations in that context—an ‘objective’ means of testing whether a proposed regionalisation is ‘unusual’ has been provided.

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Figure 27.7 Counties and Congressional Districts in Mississippi, 1992.

would have increased its number of fairly safe and safe seats (especially the former: no point in piling up very large majorities) and reduced the numbers of marginals and those won by its opponent. Morrill’s neutral court plan ‘reproduced’ the 1970 election almost exactly, however, with many more marginals than either party wanted and a much more even division of the safer seats, and this was

reflected in the 1972 election result, except that most of the marginals went to the Democrats. In this case, the independent redistricter was used as a check on the partisan ambitions of the parties. This potential use of social science cartographic skills to evaluate plans has recently been extended much further with regard to the third cr iterion, which became increasingly

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Table 27.1 Redistricting the lower house of Washington’s State legislature.

important in the redistricting process from the 1970s on because of concerns that blacks and other minorities were under-represented. Box 27.2 illustrates this, as yet unrealised, potential.

because of the ‘messiness’ of the geographical mosaic onto which the regionalisation is to be imposed and range of interest groups (most of them political in the widest usage of that term), which differ in their preferred outcomes.

CONCLUSIONS GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

The easiest problems to tackle in most situations are those to which there is a single, right solution: the task is to determine that solution, and then implement it. Unfortunately, most problems in applied geography—and certainly so in the area discussed in this chapter—have no single right solution. Instead, there is a multiplicity of solutions, some at least of which will be favoured by different interest groups. The task of people allocated such problems is thus not solution but resolution: they must not only identify feasible solutions but recommend either that which is favoured by the interest group that makes the strongest case for its preferred outcome or that which seems to provide most for everybody (i.e. is the least worst outcome for all, even if not the best for anyone). Resolution rather than solution is clearly the case with the application of pr inciples of regionalisation to the definition of political spaces and representation within the state.There is a large range of possible outcomes to each problem,

There is a massive literature on regions and regional geography: the most recent general survey is provided by Claval (1998), whereas a more critical stance is covered in several of the essays in Johnston et al. (1990). The classic work on territoriality as a spatial strategy—in effect, a form of practical regionalisation— is by Sack (1986). On the drawing of constituency boundar ies in the United Kingdom, the standard work is Rossiter et al. (1999). REFERENCES Claval, P. (1998) An Introduction to Regional Geography. Oxford: Blackwell. Freeman, T.W. (1967) The Geographer’s Craft. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Hart, J.F. (1982) The highest form of the geographer’s art. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 72, 1–29. Johnston, R.J. (1968) Choice in classification: the subjectivity of objective methods. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 58, 575–689.

POLITICAL SPACES AND REPRESENTATION Johnston, R.J., Hauer, J. and Hoekveld, G.A., (ed.) (1990) Regional Geography: Current Developments and Future Prospects. London: Routledge. Johnston, R.J. and Rossiter, D.J. (1982) Constituency building, political representation and electoral bias in urban England. In D.T.Herbert and R.J. Johnston. Geography and the Urban Environment, Volume 5. Chichester: John Wiley, 113–56. Kimble, G.H.T. (1951) The inadequacy of the regional concept. In L.D.Stamp and S.W.Wooldridge (ed.) London Essays in Geography: Rodwell Jones Memorial Volume. London: Longmans Green, 151–74. Mikesell, M.W. and Murphy, A.B. (1991) A framework for comparative study of minority-group aspirations. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 81, 581–604.

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Morrill, R.L. (1973) Ideal and reality in reapportionment. Annals of the Association of American Geographers 63, 463–77. Owen, D. (1996) Balkan Odyssey. London: Indigo. Rossiter, D.J., Johnston, R.J. and Pattie, C.J. (1999) The Boundary Commissions: Redrawing the UK’s Map of Parliamentary Constituencies. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Sack, R.D. (1986) Human Territoriality: Its Theory and History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Vasovic, M. (1980) Jovan Cvijic, 1865–1927. In T.W. Freeman and P.Pinchemel (eds) Geographers: Biobibliographic Studies, Volume 4. London: Mansell, 25–32. Wilkinson, H.R. (1951) Maps and Politics: A Review of the Ethnographic Cartography of Macedonia. Liverpool: University of Liverpool Press.

28 Housing problems in the developed world Keith Jacobs

INTRODUCTION

It is paradoxical that in spite of economic growth and technological innovation in the developed countries of the world, many people still experience serious housing problems over the course of their lives. These problems are most prevalent for working people unable to secure regular employment and those households who, through illhealth or old age, are reliant on state welfare for their income. Poor-quality housing has important implications. Inadequate housing can undermine good health, impede educational attainment and jeopardise an individual’s employment prospects.At a social level, poor housing has a detrimental impact on the environment, the economy and neighbourhood communities. Although many people might have housing problems, this chapter confines itself to looking at some of the housing problems that poor people experience in the developed world and the steps undertaken by governments to address the most pressing difficulties. The first part is primarily theoretical and seeks both to untangle the nature of these housing problems and to understand the reasons why governments intervene.The second part of the chapter develops this discussion by providing three case studies to illustrate specific measures adopted by central government, and statutory and local agencies to address acute housing problems.The case studies examine council housing renewal in London; street homelessness in New York; and finally, efforts to tackle social exclusion in Toulouse. The conclusion explores possible future government

interventions, anticipating the types of problem that are likely to occur and the potential policy responses in developing countries.

DEFINING HOUSING PROBLEMS

How then should we view housing problems? Usually, the housing problems experienced by those on limited incomes are viewed as an inevitable outcome of an increasing reliance on market mechanisms to allocate resources. Under a market system, individuals with the most resources will secure the best-quality homes and those with least resources will end up living in the poorest housing. At a fundamental level, many of the poor’s housing problems in developing countries can be traced back to the difficulties that individuals have in securing affordable housing. However, other factors also need to be considered, especially if we are to understand why certain housing issues become problems. In particular, there is a need to explore how ideology and power conflicts impact on both the definition of a problem and subsequent gover nment intervention. To explore these issues, it is necessary to adopt a critical approach, recognising how government and powerful interest groups promote particular issues as problems that need tackling in specific ways. A useful contribution has been advanced by Kemeny (1992). He argues that it is important to understand how powerful groups are able to successfully define certain issues as a problem that requires resolution.

HOUSING PROBLEMS IN THE DEVELOPED WORLD What becomes a problem is, to a considerable extent, contingent on the ways in which interest groups compete with each other to impose a particular definition and exclude others. In this respect, problems are socially constructed, as policy makers seek to establish a dominant policy agenda in response to changing economic and social conditions and their own needs. Such a perspective is very different to those approaches to the subject that maintain that problems are simply a reflection of underlying realities. Instead, a social constructionist perspective emphasises the dynamic aspects of problems and how definitions articulated by policy makers can change in a short space of time. For example, system-built tower blocks are now viewed in the United Kingdom as inadequate, even though in earlier periods they were seen as high-quality accommodation (Plate 28.1). Homelessness is another problem subject to changing definitions and policy responses. In some developed countries, for example the United States, homelessness is not seen as a failure of economic policy but as a result of individual choice.This redefinition of homelessness has taken place in spite of the attempts by pressure groups

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to coerce government to undertake more radical policy responses.The measures now being adopted in many developed countries reflect the relative weakness of those least able to influence the political agenda or define their concerns as a problem meriting substantive policy intervention. The merit of the ‘social constructionist’ approach adopted by Kemeny is three-fold. First, it acknowledges that housing problems are not capable of ostensible definition. Second, seeing housing policies as the outcome of competing claims can help us to understand why so many policies are often contradictory and rarely directed towards one consistent, unified aim. Housing pr ior ities are ultimately subordinate to government’s overall ideological concerns, even if such interventions impact detrimentally on those reliant on social housing.Third, such a perspective establishes a linkage between housing problems and decisions in other areas of social and economic policy. A clear example of the construction of housing problems can be illustrated by the way in which housing allowances to claimants in some developed countries have been eroded when interest groups have not been able to protect their entitlements. For example, in Plate 28.1 Tower block demolition, Clapton Park Estate, Hackney, London. Only one tower block remains, the rest having been demolished to make space to build new homes for rent.

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the economic recession of the 1930s in the United States and in the post-war years in the UK, the governments of both countries embarked on major housebuilding programmes, partly in response to demands made upon them by trade unions and organised labour. In the 1980s and 1990s, the pressures on governments to resource adequately public sector housing were sublimated by other interest group claims. In particular, the competing demand that tax levels should be controlled enticed governments to make savings by curbing spending on housing and welfare projects. As Bramley (1997: p. 95) has written, ‘an endemic condition of modern welfare states, is where the potential demand for and cost of providing an ever-widening set of services and benefits constantly outruns the ability and willingness of the economy, in the form of workers/taxpayers, to finance it’.

governments to instigate solutions. Of course, such a perspective is at odds with the ways in which governments state their policy objectives, as these are usually couched in terms of meeting housing need. These pronouncements are often for public consumption, for an important aspect of contemporary housing policy intervention is its symbolic impact (Edelman 1988). Interventions are widely publicised to convey an impression that the government is taking effective action. To conclude this first section, it is worth reiterating the benefit of viewing government housing policy interventions as responses to these processes rather than simply the measures of a benign state seeking to ameliorate the problems of housing. This perspective will help us to understand the political context in each of the following three case studies.

CASE STUDIES HOUSING POLICY INTERVENTION

It is important that we should be critical of approaches that seek to portray housing policy as the State’s response to a problematic environment: principally overcrowding, poor conditions and most recently homelessness. Common to these approaches is the assumption that there is a general unified housing market composed of owner occupiers, social housing and private rented accommodation. The analysis usually entails a chronological examination of the consequences of government policies on specific public and private tenure divisions construing gover nment as enacting policy primarily to ameliorate the problems experienced by consumers of housing. The evidence to justify this formulation is often a manifesto or a declaration of intent by a government minister. Housing policy, seen simply in terms of initiatives that governments undertake, is not an appropriate model with which to inter pret the intervention undertaken by governments. It should be apparent from the preceding discussion that problems are to a large extent contingent on definition and political pressures on

The primary purpose of the three case studies is to discuss the practical policy measures that have been undertaken and to ascertain how governments have responded to the pressures to intervene in the areas of most acute housing stress. Over recent years, as a consequence of criticism and mounting concern about the impact of poor housing and poverty, many governments have responded with specific policies targeted in areas of acute housing stress. Many of these current policies, as the case studies show, attempt to offset failures arising from overall fiscal policies that have impacted detrimentally on those groups with limited incomes. However, it is apparent that the levels of resources and intervention are not sufficient to redress the entrenched inequalities that exist or offset the overall impact of economic and fiscal policies that have continued to exacerbate the gulf between rich and poor. Housing renewal in Hackney, East London

In the UK, those unable to afford to own their own home or secure adequate housing in the private sector are reliant on social housing organisations to provide accommodation. Over

HOUSING PROBLEMS IN THE DEVELOPED WORLD the last twenty years, the overall investment in social housing has fallen dramatically. It has been estimated by the Chartered Institute of Housing (1997) that the additional expenditure required to tackle the backlog of council housing disrepair currently stands at £20 billion. The main reason why council housing has fallen into disrepair stems from the public’s apathy to public expenditure cuts in housing. As Hills and Mullings (1990: p. 144) observed, Housing as an issue has moved down the political agenda—the public reaction to the substantial reduction in public spending… has been much more muted than the reaction against constraints on a health budget whose cost has grown in real terms. Unlike education or the National Health Service, the extent of the problem of council housing disrepair has not become an important political issue, and rarely features in the election campaigns of political parties. Neither the housing profession nor tenant groups has been able to protect spending on council house renewal at a time of fiscal restraint. As Bramley (1997: p. 395) recognised, housing expenditure comprised a large element of capital investment, and it is well known that capital expenditure is easier to cut in a crisis than current expenditure. Such cuts defer

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future benefits, while reducing both present borrowing requirements and future debt interest commitments. They do not entail withdrawing benefits from current service recipients or sacking public sector employees. Through the 1980s and 1990s, investment in housing maintenance has borne the brunt of expenditure cuts.While overall public expenditure on services increased in real terms from £191.2 billion in 1994/5 (an increase of 34.6 per cent), housing expenditure has been cut from £11.7 billion in 1980/1 to £5.4 billion in 1994/5, a decrease of 53.9 per cent (Wilcox 1995: p. 88).The cumulative impact of these expenditure cuts has been accentuated by government legislation encouraging council tenants to buy their own property. In practice, this meant that the most desirable properties have been sold, while flats on unpopular estates remain under the control of local authorities. However, there are examples of individual estates that have benefited from investment; for example the Holly Street Estate in Hackney (see Box 28.1). The approach adopted by recent governments is that the problems on council estates cannot be addressed successfully solely by physical renewal of the properties and that a more holistic approach is required. As a consequence, government-funded initiatives now entail an integrated approach, including investment in the stock, housing

Box 28.1 The Holly Street Estate, Hackney, London The Holly Street Estate in Hackney, built in the early 1970s, consisted of a complex system of nineteen system-built, five story blocks and four nineteen-storey tower blocks. In the early 1990s, 30 per cent of those potentially economically active were out of work. As many as 80 per cent of those residing on the estate had applied for a transfer, and voids and squatted properties amounted to 25 per cent of all properties. Between 1990 and 2003, the estate will have received government resources to the tune of £200 million. The modernisation, when complete, will provide a mixture of different tenures, including new housing association flats and private properties for sale. In contrast to earlier initiatives to tackle housing problems, the renewal of Holly Street has entailed a partnership with a range of government and private sector

agencies. Initiatives such as this have, over a short space of time, become prototypes for future housing developments. In addition, considerable effor t is undertaken by housing officers to engender tenant participation to encourage tenants to play a role in the development of the estate. The holistic approach now being adopted can be contrasted with earlier interventions by local authorities and government, where there was a tendency to pursue housing policies in isolation from other social policies. In some respects, it is too early to undertake an assessment of the effectiveness of the intervention taking place on the Holly Street Estate. Clearly, the renewal of the estate, including new street properties to replace the systembuilt housing and tower blocks that have been demolished, will provide a significantly better environment than before.

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management initiatives, tenure diversification and employment projects. In Britain, resources for this type of intervention are provided by the government through the Department of the Environment, Transport and the Regions Single Regeneration Budget programme. However, whether the housing renewal strategies now being undertaken in Hackney and in many other areas of the UK will successfully regenerate these localities is another question. In the UK, along with other countries in the developed world, social housing is widely seen as an inferior tenure to owner-occupied housing, and as such many better-off residents continue to move out of council property as soon as their personal economic circumstances permit. This process known as residualisation in effect undermines efforts to tackle the social and economic problems that exist on many council estates. In addition, it seems unlikely that enough resources have been set aside by the government to enable many other estates to benefit from increased investment. In fact, public expenditure on Single Regeneration Budget programmes will contract by 29 per cent in real terms between 1994/5 and 1998/9 (Centre for Urban and Regional Studies 1995: p. 20). For these reasons, it can be argued that the interventions taking place are insufficient to prevent this process of residualisation. Indeed the tenants who will be living on estates such

as Holly Street are, according to Page (1993: p. 30), Even more economically disadvantaged than those housed previously—although younger and more likely to be economically active, their incomes are lower and they are less likely to have a job, more likely to be unemployed and more likely to be wholly dependent on state benefits or pensions. The policy intervention taking place on the Holly Street Estate provides an example of the holistic approach to housing renewal. In contrast to earlier periods, the objective is to target resources on a specific area and to integrate housing policies with economic and social measures.Although the quality of individual council tenants lives will improve as a result of the physical renewal, the overall status of public sector housing will continue to deteriorate because of the residualisation process. Until steps are taken to restore its status as a form of tenure attractive to those who are able to exercise choice and not just those in greatest need, the economic outlook of localities like Holly Street will remain forlorn (Plate 28.2). Tackling street homelessness in New York

The second example of a contemporary housing problem concerns the rise of homelessness in the Plate 28.2 The Holly Street Estate, Hackney, London, before the current £200 million redevelopment programme, as many as 80 per cent of the tenants had requested a move off the estate.

HOUSING PROBLEMS IN THE DEVELOPED WORLD USA and the efforts of government agencies to tackle the issue. Homelessness is so debilitating that individuals without a home are highly susceptible to a range of other problems and have great difficulty in gaining access to health care and other services. How homelessness is measured is of course subject to competing pressures. US government agencies usually insist on a strict definition of rooflessness when making estimates, while pressure groups and charities tend to argue for a broadly based definition to include those individuals living in substandard, overcrowded accommodation (see Daly 1996: p. 7 for a discussion of competing definitions). As in other countries in the developed world, there has been a large increase in the number of homeless people in the USA. In the 1980s, estimates of the homeless population ranged from 250,000– 300,000 (US Department of Housing and Urban Development 1984) to 3 million (Homes and Synder 1982). In the 1990s, estimates now range from 840,000 to 5,000,000 (Link et al. 1994; Takahashi 1996). In New York, agencies working on behalf of homeless groups estimate the number of homeless to be between 70,000 and 90,000, half of whom live on the street and the remainder in public or pr ivate emergency sheltered accommodation (National Coalition for the Homeless 1989). Approximately one-fifth of this number are parents and children, one-third young adults aged between 16 and 21 years and the remainder single people, 80 per cent of whom are men. As many as 90 per cent of the residents in sheltered accommodation are from ethnic minority groups, even though as a proportion of the city population, ethnic minority groups constitute 40 per cent (Cohen 1994; National Coalition for the Homeless 1989). As discussed in the first part of the chapter, homelessness represents the outcome of a complex set of economic, social and political factors, all of which impact upon the availability and location of housing. In most of the principal cities of the USA, the supply of homes has been affected by abandonment of properties in the 1970s and recent gentrification processes in which professionals moved to the inner city (Daly 1996: p. 21). So, for

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example, in NewYork city between 1970 and 1985, 109,000 single-room occupancy units were either demolished or converted into flats for sale or rent (many of which were let to people on low incomes, including those in receipt of welfare support). Over the same period, the number of single households has increased enormously, forcing rents up and literally pricing many individuals out of the market. The problems have been compounded by economic restructuring (leading to unemployment and lower-paid jobs), reductions in welfare support (as many as 1 million of New York city’s population is in receipt of welfare allowances) and the curtailment of new public sector housing.The result has been a relative fall in the incomes of the poor and a long waiting list (200,000) for public housing (Marcuse 1990). In addition, it has been suggested (Kear ns and Smith 1993) that the deinstitutionalisation of mental health care has added to the number of homeless people along with demographic changes and changes to family structures. The policy response to the increasing incidence of homelessness in New York reflects the issue’s low political priority. There is no constitutional right to permanent housing, and as Cohen (1994: p. 772) argues, ‘there have only been piecemeal programmes for the homeless’. In New York city, $500 million is spent each year by the city and state authorities on programmes to assist the homeless (New York City Commission on the Homeless 1992). This includes funds set aside for soup kitchens, emergency hostels and drop-in centres. As in other countr ies, voluntar y organisations have played an increasingly important role, especially for individuals with mental health problems. In recent years, following the McKinney Homelessness Assistance Act (Interagency Council on the Homeless 1990; 1994), there is a requirement for city authorities to establish an implementation plan (Comprehensive Homeless Assistance Plan). However, this assistance has made only a limited impact (Berman and West 1997) and, as any visitor to New York can testify, there remain an enormous number of destitute individuals living on the city’s streets.

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It is important to explore why the amount of resources in what is one of the wealthiest countries in the world is so clearly insufficient to tackle the problems of homelessness. One possible explanation is that homelessness is seen as individual ‘fecklessness’ and not an issue that the government should address. For many Americans, homelessness is not seen as an issue that merits substantial government intervention. Other political pr iorities are deemed to be more important, in particular the commitment to reduce federal taxes for those in work.The culture of ‘individualism’, which is so prevalent in the USA, also has an effect. There is longstanding hostility to ‘big’ government, and increases in welfare intervention are not generally supported by the majority of the population. As Takahashi (1996: p. 291) has observed ‘policy responses have become increasingly punitive…at the local level, there have been expanding efforts both to criminalize homelessness through anti-camping ordinances and to prevent homeless persons from entering and staying in specific jurisdictions’. Social exclusion in Toulouse: the establishment of contract de ville.

As much as 90 per cent of social housing in France is managed by Habitations à Loyer Modéré (HLM) (housing at moderate rents). There are as many as 1000 HLM organisations managing a stock of 4.6 million dwellings. Financial support and lending facilities for HLM are provided by the Caisse des Dépôts Consignations, a national savings and investment bank. Along similar lines to other countries, social housing estates in France have

increasingly housed the poorest groups in society. This process of residualisation accelerated in the 1970s.As Power (1993: p. 60) writes, ‘HLMs came to house disproportionate numbers of large households, of one parent families, of immigrants, and of French citizens from overseas provinces.’ This was accentuated by ‘better-off’ residents moving into owner occupation. The changing economic and social conditions on many of the large estates in conjunction with disrepair intensified the problems. In response to the physical, social and economic problems on large French housing estates (Grand ensembles), the government developed a number of initiatives (see Tuppen 1995). For example, in 1981 a national body entitled Commission Nationale pour le développement des Quartiers with a budget of 721 million francs (1985 prices) was set up to improve not only the physical fabric but also the social and recreational facilities of residents. In 1983, two other joint initiatives were established: Mission Banlieus 89 and the Council for Preventing Delinquency. This was followed shortly by another important initiative, Guidelines for the City. This placed a requirement on all urban communes to develop a programme local de l’Habitat, a local housing strategy focusing on those who are badly housed or deprived. In 1991, the national HLM organisation established a job creation scheme with government for tenants living on some of the most deprived estates. The most important recent initiative that the government in France has undertaken is the contract de ville programme, intended to revitalise areas of deprived social housing (see Box 28.2). The contract entails a partnership primarily between central and local government and HLM social

Box 28.2 Contract de ville in Toulouse Toulouse, France’s fifth largest city, is one locality that has already benefited from contract de ville. The population is currently 3 million, unemployment stands at 19.7% (compared to a national average of 10.8%) and the proportion of social housing units is over 55% (compared to a national rate of 14.6 %). In addition, many immigrants and ethnic minorities have settled in Toulouse (comprising 18.3% of the total population). Among the contract’s key objectives under the Right to Housing and

Right to City Life budgets are provision of low-rent HLM housing units; special allocations arrangements to improve the social and economic composition of the estate; refurbishment of 4400 system-built HLM properties; an emergency reception service for homeless people; sites for travellers; and 200 new units of emergency temporary housing. As much as 1.67 billion francs (£175.86 million) has been set aside for these initiatives.

HOUSING PROBLEMS IN THE DEVELOPED WORLD housing organisations. Overall, there are 214 contracts in existence, fifty-eight of which are in the Paris region (lie de France). An additional 4 billion francs is provided by regional councils. Contracts last five years (1994–8) and are funded by central government.The key aims are to enhance public service provision, renovate poor housing (120,000 units a year), support economic regeneration and prevent crime. The amount of resources set aside by the government is 9.5 billion francs (approximately 1 billion) to be spent between 1994 and 1998 (LHU1997). The implementation of the contract is the responsibility of the senior chef de project and a steering committee, on which serve elected representatives and the local prefect. The actual implementation of the contract is the task of officers. The policies now being pursued in France are in certain respects similar to the initiatives being undertaken in the UK and other developed countr ies. Both illustrate the pressures on government to target resources selectively and at the same time integrate housing measures alongside economic initiatives. However, as is the case in Britain, it is doubtful whether these initiatives can reverse the accelerating social problems now emerging in developed countries and the increasing divide between the ‘weil-off’ and those who are deemed to be socially excluded. In addition, there is increasing concern that the complex bureaucracy established by contract de ville means that implementation is now contingent on a wider network of agencies than was the case previously, making it much more difficult to undertake quick and effective decision making or attract private sector investment (Tuppen 1995: p. 371).

CONCLUSION

This chapter began with a discussion about how problems of housing are defined and what are deemed the appropriate policy responses. It was argued that a reliance on a narrow economic formulation as either one of limited supply and excess demand or as an enduring facet of industrial society is best supplemented with an analysis of

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other considerations such as politics and ideology if we are to understand the nature of contemporary housing problems. The three case studies provide an illustration of the way in which pressures on government to act may not be as substantial as other competing pressures to control public expenditure and stimulate growth. Although considerable publicity and energy is devoted to the new initiatives, this should not conceal the stark underlying reality that social housing problems are slipping from the mainstream political agenda of most governments in the developed world. However, in spite of this pessimistic assertion, there are some positive aspects to the way that specific problems are being addressed. In both France and the UK, efforts to integrate housing policies within wider economic and political concerns reverse long-standing policies that saw government tiers working in isolation.Yet in both countries it is doubtful whether the resources provided are sufficient to address the scale of the problem. In New York, the response to homelessness reflects the low status accorded to social welfare. It is no surprise that in this environment government rhetoric has not been matched by spending commitments. In any assessment of specific policy responses, it is important to recognise that throughout the developing world there is little enthusiasm to commit large-scale resources to tackle the problems that exist for the poorest members of society. If we judge housing policies by the level of resources set aside by governments and not statements of intent, then the only conclusion that can be meaningfully drawn is that the problems of housing have marginal importance in the policy agenda framed by governments throughout the developed world. Ultimately, this can be traced back to the capacity of sophisticated electorates to resist policies that promote increased taxation as a means of alleviating inequality (Galbraith 1992) and the willingness of countries to adopt market solutions irrespective of the impact that these policies have on the poorest and most vulnerable residents.While predicting the future is always difficult, it would appear from current housing policies that even though the widening gulf between rich and poor citizens may

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remain an issue for all governments, it will not be a sufficiently high priority to alter government’s overall economic and political priorities of controlling public expenditure and maintaining low taxation. In practice, this will mean that many of the housing problems described in the case studies will continue to afflict the poorest members of society. Applied geographers and other social scientists can play an emancipatory role by undertaking research that reveals the real causes of the housing problem.

GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

The key international journal on housing policy is Housing Studies. Journals also worth consulting include Policy and Politics and Urban Studies. Recent books that successfully combine a theoretical analysis with a critique of housing policy include Kemeny (1992), Malpass and Means (1993) and Malpass and Murie (1996). The most outstanding book published in recent years is Michael Harloe’s (1995) The People’s Home, a detailed critique of social housing provision in Europe and the USA. Those interested in comparative research should consult Ball et al. (1992), Barlow and Duncan (1994), McCrone and Stevens (1995) and Kleinman (1996).The most recent book in this area by Doling (1997) has the added advantage of examining housing in Australia and Japan as well as in North America and Europe. In connection with the specific concerns dealt with in the case studies, three valuable books are Ambrose (1994) on UK housing renewal policy; Daly (1996) on homelessness in the United States; and the consequences of social exclusion on housing estates in Europe by Power (1997). Finally, those readers interested in a broadranging discussion of welfare and wider ideological processes should consult the work of EspingAndersen (1990).

REFERENCES Ambrose, P. (1994) Urban Process and Power. London: Routledge.

Ball, M., Harloe, M. and Martens, M. (1988) Housing and Social Change in Europe and the USA. London: Routledge. Barlow, J. and Duncan, S. (1994) Success and Failure in Housing Provision: European Systems Compared. Oxford: Pergamon. Berman, E. and West, J. (1997) Municipal responses to homelessness: a national survey of ‘Preparedness’. Journal of Urban Affairs 19(3), 303–18. Bramley, G. (1997) Housing Policy: a case of terminal decline. Policy and Politics 25(4), 387–407. Centre for Urban and Regional Studies (1995) The Single Regeneration Budget:The Stocktake Birmingham: CURS. Chartered Institute of Housing (1997) Housing and The Comprehensive Spending Review. CIH Briefing, Coventry: CIH. Cohen, C.I. (1994) Down and out in New York and London: a cross-national comparison of homelessness. Hospital and Community Psychiatry 45(8), 769–76. Daly, G. (1996) Homeless. London: Routledge. Doling, J. (1997) Comparative Housing Policy: Government and Housing in Advanced Industrialized Countries. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Edelman, M. (1988) Constructing the Political Spectacle. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Esping-Andersen, G. (1990) The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism. Cambridge: Polity Press. Galbraith, J.K. (1992) The Culture of Contentment. London: Sinclair Stevenson. Harloe, M. (1995) The People’s Home: Social Rented Housing in Europe and America. Oxford: Blackwell. Hills, J. and Mullings, B. (1990) Housing: a decent home for all at a price within their means? In J.Hills (ed.) The State of Welfare: the Welfare State in Britain since 1974. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 135–205. Homes, M.E. and Synder, M. (1982) Homelessness in America: A Forced March to Nowhere. Washington, DC: Community for Creative Nonviolence. Interagency Council on the Homeless (1990) 1990 Annual Report. Washington, DC: Interagency Council. Interagency Council on the Homeless (1994) Priority Home! The Federal Plan to Break the Cycle of Homelessness. Washington, DC: Interagency Council. Kearns, R.A. and Smith, C.J. (1993) Housing stressors and mental health among marginalized urban populations. Area 25, 274–87. Kemeny, J. (1992) Housing and Social Theory. London: Routledge. Kleinman, M. (1996) Housing, Welfare and the State: A Comparative Analysis of Britain France and Germany. Cheltenham: Edward Arnold.

HOUSING PROBLEMS IN THE DEVELOPED WORLD Link, B.G., Susser, E., Stueve, A. and Phelan, J. (1994) Lifetime and five-year prevalence of homelessness in the United States. American Journal of Public Health 84, 1907–12. London Housing Unit (1997) The French Connection: Regeneration Lessons from Contracts de Ville. London: London Housing Unit. Malpass, P. and Means, R. (eds) (1993) Implementing Housing Policy. Bletchley: Open University Press. Malpass, P. and Murie, A. (1996) Housing Policy and Practice, 4th edition. London: Routledge. Marcuse, P. (1990) Homelessness and housing policy. In C.Caton (ed.) Homeless in America, New York: Oxford University Press, 138–59. McCrone, G. and Stephens, M. (1995) Housing Policy in Britain and Europe. London: UCL Press. National Coalition for the Homeless (1989) One Hundred Thousand and Counting. Homelessness in New York State. Albany, NY: National Coalition for the Homeless, February. New York City Commission on the Homeless (1992) The Way Home: A New Direction in Social Policy. New York: Office of the Mayor.

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Page, D. (1993) Building for Communities: A Study of New Housing Association Estates. York: Joseph Rowntree Foundation. Power, A. (1993) Hovels to High Rise: State Housing in Europe Since 1850. London: Routledge. Power, A. (1997) Estates on the Edge:The Social Consequences of Mass Housing in Northern Europe. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Takahashi, L.M. (1996) A decade of understanding homelessness in the USA: from characterisation to representation. Progress in Human Geography 20(3), 291–310. Tuppen, J. (1995) After les minguettes: ‘problem housing estates in France’. European Urban and Regional Studies 2(4), 367–71. US Department of Housing and Urban Development (1984) The extent of homelessness in America: a report to the Secretary on the homeless and emergency shelters. Washington, DC: US Department of Housing and Urban Development. Wilcox,T. (1995) The 1995/6 Housing Finance Review York: Joseph Rowntree Foundation.

29 The geography of poverty and deprivation Michael Pacione

Despite the economic and social advances of the post-war era, seen in increased life expectancy, a reduction in the proportion of the world’s population facing hunger and life-threatening deprivation, and increased access to health-care and education, poverty remains a major problem for a significant proportion of the population in most countries in the contemporary world. At the heart of this dilemma is the uneven distribution of the world’s resources. Uneven development is an inherent characteristic of capitalism that stems from the propensity of capital to flow to locations that offer the greatest potential return. The differential use of space by capital in pursuit of profit creates a mosaic of inequality at all geog raphic scales from global to local. Consequently, at any one time certain countries, regions, cities and localities will be in the throes of decline as a result of the retreat of capital investment, while others will be experiencing the impact of capital inflows. Applied human geographers have focused particular attention on the conditions of poverty and deprivation experienced by those people and places at the disadvantaged end of the quality of life spectrum. This chapter reviews the major dimensions of applied research into the geography of poverty and deprivation. The discussion first identifies the nature of poverty and deprivation before consider ing the question of its measurement.The extent and incidence of poverty is then examined with reference to research undertaken at a variety of scales from the global to local level in a variety of settings throughout

the world. In the final section, we examine the value of an applied geographical perspective for the identification and amelioration of the multiple problems of poverty and deprivation.

THE ANATOMY OF POVERTY

Poverty implies deprivation or human needs that are not met. It is generally understood to arise from a lack of income or assets, which means that people are unable to meet basic physical needs such as an adequate diet and decent housing. The poor are, in many instances, also unable to attain health-care when sick or injured and, outside the welfare states of the North, have no means of subsistence when unemployed, ill, disabled or too old to work. Other ‘higher-order’ needs that many would incorporate in any definition of poverty include self-esteem and access to civil and political rights (Townsend 1993). The causes of poverty are complex. In the countries of the developing world, many problems are associated with economic stagnation and/or debt crisis, and with the difficulties of structural adjustment. In most of the ‘transition countries’ of Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union, problems of poverty are linked to the collapse of communism, although in many countries social progress had already slowed in the years prior to these changes. In several of the wealthiest countries, the increase in poverty during the 1980s was associated less with economic stagnation and more with changes in the labour market, including

THE GEOGRAPHY OF POVERTY AND DEPRIVATION a growth in long-term unemployment. Other contributing factors were related to political strategies that reduced expenditure on social welfare. In many Western states, these trends are reflected by a growing inequality in income distribution. (Goodman et al. 1997). A key factor in the debate over the nature and extent of poverty and deprivation is the distinction made between absolute and relative poverty. The absolutist or subsistence definition of poverty contends that a family would be considered to be living in poverty if its ‘total earnings are insufficient to obtain the minimum necessaries for the maintenance of merely physical efficiency’ (Rowntree 1901: p. 186).This notion of a minimum level of subsistence and the related concept of a poverty line exerted a strong influence on the development of social welfare legislation in postwar Britain. The system of National Assistance benefits introduced following the Beveridge Report of 1942 was based on calculations of the amount required to satisfy the basic needs of food, clothing and housing plus a small amount for other expenses. A similar concept of a safety net for particularly vulnerable social groups underlies the Medicare and Medicaid programmes in the USA. In general, most estimates of the scale of poverty within and between nations employ a per capita level of income as a definitive poverty line. If, however, we accept that needs are culturally determined rather than biologically fixed then poverty is more accurately seen as a relative phenomenon. The broader definition inherent in the concept of relative poverty includes job security, work satisfaction, fringe benefits (such as pension rights) plus various components of the ‘social wage’, including the use of public property and services as well as satisfaction of higher-order needs such as status, power and self-esteem. In essence, the absolutist perspective carries with it the implication that poverty can be eliminated in an economically advanced society, while the relativist view accepts that the poor are always with us. As Figure 29.1 indicates, poverty and deprivation are related concepts. Poverty is a central element in the multi-dimensional problem of deprivation whereby individual difficulties

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reinforce one another to produce a situation of absolute disadvantage for those affected. The root cause of deprivation is economic and stems from two sources. The first arises due to the low wages earned by those employed in declining traditional industries or engaged, often on a part-time basis, in newer service-based industr ies in postindustrial societies, or by the mass of the selfemployed in the informal sector of third world economies. The second cause is the unemployment experienced by those marginal to the job market such as single parents, the elderly, disabled and, increasingly, never-employed school leavers. Significantly, applied geographical research has demonstrated that the complex of povertyrelated problems shown in Figure 29.1 exhibits marked spatial concentration. This patterning serves to accentuate the effects of poverty and deprivation for the residents of particular localities. The phenomenon of socio-spatial segregation is seen at its starkest in the squatter settlements of the third world (Plate 29.1) but is to be found to a varying degree in most of the cities of the modern world (Box 29.1). In declining older industrial regions of the North neighbourhood unemployment rates of three times the national average are common, with male unemployment frequently in excess of 40 per cent Figure 29.1 The anatomy of multiple deprivation.

Source: Pacione 1997b.

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CHALLENGES OF THE HUMAN ENVIRONMENT Plate 29.1 The McDonald’s Farm squatter camp in Soweto, South Africa (photograph: David Drakakis-Smith).

Box 29.1 The Chheetpur squatter settlement in Allahabad, India Allahabad is one of the five major cities in the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh. In-migration has played a significant role in the growth of the city’s population, which increased by 500 per cent between 1981–91. The economic base of the city is weak, and the informal sector accounts for over 40 per cent of the total workforce. Urban infrastructure is unable to cope with the increasing population, and a quarter of the inhabitants live in slums and squatter settlements. The squatter settlement of Chheetpur occupies a hectare of flood-prone land along a railway line in the south of the city. The majority of residents are members of the lowest castes. Living conditions are inhuman. Oneor two-room mud houses shelter families of five-seven members, including adult males, females and children, with each room measuring not more than 12 m2. None of the houses has a separate kitchen or lavatory, and defecation occurs outside along the railway track or other

(Donnison and Middleton 1987; Convery 1997). Within such regions, the shift from heavy industrial employment to service-oriented activities, and the consequent demand for a different kind of labour force, has served to undermine long-standing social structures built around full-time male employment and has contributed to social stress within families. Dependence upon social welfare, where available, and lack of disposable income lowers self-esteem and can lead to clinical depression. Poverty also restricts diet and accentuates poor health. Malnutrition is a major factor underlying

open spaces or in open drainage lines at the side of the street. Animals and humans live together, and the low level of sanitation spreads diseases, which find ready victims in the malnourished Chheetpurians. Despite the location of the settlement adjacent to several schools and colleges, two-thirds of the squatters are illiterate and the struggle for daily survival means that investment in the future receives a low priority. Despite the general poverty of the environment, even within the area socio-spatial divisions are evident between higher-caste poor and the poorest of the poor. In this and other squatter settlements throughout the third world, the problems stemming from absolute and relative poverty and deprivation are endemic. Source: H.Misra1994.

the high infant mortality rates in the deprived environments occupied by the majority of population in the South. Even in the developed world, however, infant mortality rates are often significantly higher in poor areas (Benzeval et al. 1995). Children brought up in such environments are more likely to be exposed to criminal subcultures and to suffer educational disadvantage (Pacione 1997a). The physical environment in deprived areas is typically bleak. The ghettos of American cities and parts of deprived local authority estates in the UK exhibit extensive areas

THE GEOGRAPHY OF POVERTY AND DEPRIVATION of dereliction, little landscaping, and shopping and leisure facilities that reflect the poverty of the area. The extreme degradation that characterises the poor areas of third world cities frequently poses a threat to the very survival of inhabitants (Main and Williams 1994). The residents of poverty areas are often also victims of stigmatisation, which operates as an additional obstacle to obtaining employment or credit facilities. Many deprived areas are socially and physically isolated from the mainstream, and those who are able to move away do so, leaving behind a residual population with limited control over their quality of life.

MEASURING THE EXTENT OF POVERTY

The measurement of poverty and deprivation is one of the most direct means of monitoring sociospatial variations in quality of life, and of assessing the performance of public agencies charged with improving the well-being of the poor. Applied researchers must be aware, however, that, in practice, Figure 29.2 Life expectancy at birth, 1990.

Source: Findlay 1994.

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these key objectives are often impeded by the nonavailability of accurate and comparable statistics. Accordingly, researchers must make explicit the assumptions and limitations of the data employed and must be aware of the fact that in some situations what is measurable and measured becomes what is real, standardising the diverse and excluding the divergent and different (Chambers 1994). As indicated, most estimates of the scale of poverty employ an income level as the poverty threshold. However, as the WHO (1992) reported, poverty defined solely by level of personal income cannot cover health, literacy or access to public goods or common property resources. To overcome the deficiencies of a simple incomebased measure of poverty, researchers may either select a single indicator of more direct relevance to the problem, or employ a suite of social, economic and demographic variables to produce a multivariate measure of the condition. One of the most valuable single indicators of social conditions in a country is life expectancy at birth (Figure 29.2). This measures the extent to which

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prevailing economic, social and political factors make it possible for citizens to avoid premature death. This indicator has been found to exhibit a strong correlation with multivariate measures of living standards or overall well-being (Partha and Weale 1992) and may therefore be regarded as a sound indicator of the extent of poverty and deprivation. Clearly, it is not possible for a country to exhibit a high average life expectancy if most of the population do not enjoy access to good quality housing, safe water supplies, adequate sanitation and health care provision. Even prosperous countries cannot rank among those with highest life expectancies if a significant proportion of their population lack the income, living conditions and access to services that protect against premature death. While life expectancy provides a useful guide to national levels of poverty, use of an indicator of average life expectancy for a country can disguise major socio-spatial variations in well-being within nations. Two of the most important factors found to explain intra-national variations in poverty refer to the extent of inequality, and the level of basic service provision. Thus, in a survey of twenty-two low-income countries, Anand and Ravallion (1998) found that one-third of the increase in life expectancy over the study period was due to reduced poverty and two-thirds to increased spending on social services. These results suggest that the significance of economic growth in expanding life expectancy is tied to the ways in which the benefits are distributed among the population. The association between life expectancy and levels of income inequality has also been demonstrated in twelve countries of the European Union (Wilkenson 1992). Of particular significance for applied geog raphical research into poverty and deprivation is the fact that these data place strong emphasis on the need for analysis at the intranational scale. Accordingly, in the following sections we examine the conduct and value of such investigation at three different levels.

URBAN AND RURAL POVERTY

Although socio-spatial variations in the incidence of poverty and deprivation exist in all countries in the context of the developing world, particular attention has been focused on differential levels of living between urban and rural areas, with most studies indicating a higher incidence of poverty in the latter.This conclusion is supported by the data presented in Table 29.1, which is based on a nationally defined poverty line related to the income needed to satisfy basic minimum needs in each country. A note of caution is required, however, not least since the use of a single incomebased poverty line across both urban and rural areas may underestimate the extent of urban poverty by failing to take account of the higher costs of urban living. When allowance is made for differences in living costs between urban and rural areas, the scale of urban poverty generally increases (Feres and Leon 1990). Nothwithstanding the difficulties of comparative analysis, the evidence from Table 29.1 indicates severe poverty in rural areas. A study of rural poverty in 114 countries in the South found that 940 million or 36 per cent of the population had incomes below the poverty line (Jazairy et al. 1992), while in the USA Lyson (1989) found that the rural and black-belt labour market areas of the American south have remained poorer and more underdeveloped than their urban counterparts. There is, however, little to be gained by seeking to demonstrate the relative severity of poverty in urban and rural areas. As Table 29.1 indicates, in both contexts, the scale of the problem is critical and demands urgent remedial action. REGIONAL VARIATIONS IN POVERTY AND DEPRIVATION

The geographical and statistical overlap between individual indicators of poverty and deprivation stimulated the development of composite multivariate territorial social indicators as a means of revealing the differential patterns of quality of life between regions. Early studies in the field include Wilson’s (1969) analysis of inter-state

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Table 29.1 The extent of absolute poverty in selected countries.

Source: United Nations Centre for Human Settlements 1996. Notes: These are all estimates based on data from a household budget, income or expenditure survey and are based on the concept of an ‘absolute poverty line’ expressed in monetary terms. The figures for different countries are not necessarily comparable, since different assumptions will have been made for setting the poverty line. (NB comparisons between these countries should be avoided, as different criteria were used to set poverty lines).

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variations in quality of life in the USA and Gordon and Whittaker’s (1972) study of prosperity for local areas of southwest England. Smith (1973) employed a set of forty-seven social variables relating to income, health, housing, education, social order and social belonging to create a map of social well-being for the coterminous states of the USA, which highlighted the relative poverty of the southern states (Figure 29.3). More recently, analysis of a number of deprivation-related indicators from the 1991 census illuminated the contrasting geographies of poverty and affluence among local authority districts in Britain. Compare, for example, the position of Glasgow district and the spatially contiguous suburban district of Bearsden and Milngavie in Tables 29.2 and 29.3. Green (1994) has also shown that in terms of unemployment and inactivity rates the gap between the best and worst wards in the UK increased between 1981 and 1991 to accentuate an already significant degree of polarisation. Significantly, the sociospatial incidence of poverty exhibited a high level of consistency over the decade. A similar conclusion was demonstrated at the conurbation level by Pacione’s (1995a; b) analysis of multiple deprivation in Strathclyde, which revealed the spatial and temporal consistency of deprivation in specific localities. As well as illuminating regional var iations in well-being, these studies also

provided further support for the examination of socio-spatial variations in poverty and deprivation at the intra-urban level.

POVERTY AND DEPRIVATION WITHIN THE CITY

The problems of pover ty and depr ivation experienced by those people and places marginal to the capitalist development process have intensified over recent decades. A substantial proportion of the disadvantaged live in towns and cities. In the countries of the North, large areas of many of the older industrial cities have been economically and socially devastated by the effects of global economic restructur ing, deindustrialisation, and ineffective urban economic policy (Pacione 1990a). For many of the residents of cities in the UK and USA, the nature and extent of multiple deprivation represents a contemporary urban crisis (Box 29.2) (Pacione 1997b). In order to understand the incidence and impact of pover ty and depr ivation on disadvantaged communities, it is necessary to complement national- and regional-level analyses by working at the lowest possible spatial scale; a scale that draws closest to the context of people’s daily lives. In general, the finer the spatial scale of analysis the more detailed and more policy-

Figure 29.3 Social well-being in the USA.

Source: Smith 1973.

THE GEOGRAPHY OF POVERTY AND DEPRIVATION

relevant are the research findings. Consequently, over recent decades applied geographers have focused particular attention on local variations in poverty and deprivation within cities. A striking early example of intra-urban variation in well-being is provided by Bunge and Bordessa’s (1975) map of infant mortality in Detroit, which revealed that an American born in the central areas of the city had the same chance of survival as an infant born in several third world countries (Figure 29.4). The skewed distribution of life chances within the modern Western city was also revealed

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in more recent evidence from Glasgow, which showed infant mortality rates in the disadvantaged council estate of Easterhouse to be five times higher than those in the nearby middle-class suburb of Bishopbriggs (Pacione 1993). Applied geographical research into poverty at the intra-urban scale has generally used the census tract as the basic frame of reference. Smith (1994) employed data on median family income and racial composition to explore the differential incidence of poverty in Tampa (Figure 29.5). The marked socio-spatial concentration of poverty in

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Box 29.2 Experiences of poverty We’re getting low now. We’ve got food for today, but there’s none for tomorrow. Last week we ran out of money for the electric meter…. I just have one meal a day, sometimes I don’t eat at all…. I’ve had to get the little ones out of nappies—I couldn’t afford them any more…. We’re going steadily downhill. (Terry—a resident of inner London) The soup kitchen opens at noon. The volunteers who prepared the food have now been joined by an assortment of students, ‘lunch ladies’ and people here in a less than voluntary capacity working a community service sentence. They feed up to 150 people a day, rising from about seventy at the beginning of the month to a peak at the end when times are hardest. About four-fifths of those served are black, the vast majority are men aged twenty-five to forty. There are a small number of drug addicts, but many are decently dressed, and some are at work in

minimum-wage jobs. Many are regulars, recognised and greeted by the servers. (Feeding the poor in a city in the Southern United States) My day begins at four in the morning especially when my companero is on first shift. I make his breakfast. I then make about 100 saltenas (pies) which I sell in the street to pay for necessities that my husband’s wage doesn’t cover. Then the kids that go to school in the morning get ready while I wash the clothes I left soaking overnight. From what we earn between us we can eat and dress, but food is expensive: 28 pesos for a kilo of meat, 4 pesos for carrots, 6 pesos for onions… Considering that my husband earns 28 pesos a day working in the mine that’s hardly enough, is it? (Domitila—the wife of a Bolivian tin miner) Sources: Harrison 1985; Weild 1992; Smith 1994. Figure 29.4 Infant mortality in Detroit.

Source : Bunge and Bordessa 1975.

the inner-city black residential areas was reproduced in other cities of the southeastern USA, lending support to the existence of an excluded urban underclass within advanced urban society (Mingione 1996). The value of local-level applied research can be illustrated with reference to the geography of poverty and deprivation in the city of Glasgow, Scotland. In this study, data on sixty-four censusbased social, economic and demographic

indicators for each of the 5374 census areas in the city were subjected to principal component analysis. The first component, accounting for 15 per cent of the variance, was clearly identifiable as an indicator of multiple deprivation with high positive loadings on var iables relating to unemployment, overcrowded housing, single parents, car-less households, long-term illness and local authority rented housing. Calculation of component scores provided a measure of deprivation for each of the

THE GEOGRAPHY OF POVERTY AND DEPRIVATION Figure 29.5 Variations in social well-being in Tampa.

Source: Smith 1973.

census tracts in the city. The spatial expression of the multiple deprivation component is shown in Figure 29.6. This identified major concentrations of deprivation in inter-war inner suburban areas such as Possilpark, Garngad, Haghill and Blackhill; in isolated pockets south of the river in Govan, Gorbals and Pollokshaws; parts of the Maryhill Corridor and the Glasgow Eastern Areas Renewal (GEAR) area; and in the post-war peripheral council estates of Drumchapel, Castlemilk and Easterhouse. Comparison of the results of this analysis with earlier studies of poverty and deprivation in the city indicated a significant change in the

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distribution of the problem in Glasgow over recent decades. In 1971, a higher proportion of deprived areas were located in the inner city, particularly in the East End and the Maryhill Corridor (Pacione 1989). Over the intervening period, the traditional inner tenement housing, which previously exhibited severe deprivation, recorded a relative improvement in status largely as a result of massive clearance and redevelopment by the local authority, combined in some areas, like GEAR, with modernisation and new building aided by housing associations and pr ivate developers. This process involved the large-scale relocation of residents in a general process of decentralisation. The inner areas now contain a much reduced and ageing population living in improved accommodation. Conversely, the outer estates exhibit a younger demographic structure and, while the housing is generally well provided with basic amenities, overcrowding is widespread. Serious social problems such as unemployment and a high proportion of single-parent families are also present.These spatial changes in the incidence of deprivation have been accompanied by a redistribution in terms of housing tenure.Whereas in 1971 a high proportion of deprived areas included older and frequently private rented properties (notably in the East End, Maryhill, Springburn and Govan), by 1991, deprivation had become increasingly concentrated in the public sector. The geographical incidence of multiple deprivation in 1991 also sheds light on the effectiveness of the city’s system of priority planning areas. While significant improvements have been made to living conditions in the two inner areas of Maryhill and GEAR, comparatively little progress was achieved in the outer estates. In addition, the geographical boundaries of the priority areas are open to question, with major concentrations of multiply deprived households (e.g. in Possilpark and Haghill) excluded from the official priority designations. In general, however, as Figure 29.6 reveals, the most significant trend over the past two decades has been the increasing concentration of deprivation in areas of council housing. This phenomenon represents a major

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CHALLENGES OF THE HUMAN ENVIRONMENT Figure 29.6 The distribution of multiple deprivation in Glasgow, 1991.

Source: Pacione1995b.

Plate 29.2 A modem equivalent of ‘bread and circuses’? The proliferation of satellite television in a deprived council estate in Glasgow (photograph: the author).

challenge for contemporary urban planners and policy makers.

THE VALUE OF AN APPLIED GEOGRAPHICAL PERSPECTIVE

While the principal underlying causes of local concentrations of poverty and deprivation are structural, stemming from the effects of global economic restructuring and state social and economic policy, the impacts of these processes are felt by people living within particular local

contexts. Study of the difficulties experienced by these localities, which, although remaining meaningful places to their inhabitants, are not considered profitable spaces by capital, affords valuable insight into the nature and incidence of poverty and deprivation in contemporary society and informs a critique of state policy. Critics of geographical analyses of sociospatial variations in poverty, however, have sought to dismiss area-based research on the grounds that it does not offer an explanation of the underlying causes of revealed patterns. This viewpoint reflects the radical critique of the empirical-statistical analyses that dominated applied human geography throughout the 1970s. Such critics are now pushing at an open door. The claim that uncritical spatial analysis lends itself to preservation of the injustice present in the status quo has been widely accepted by applied human geographers and has informed subsequent policy-oriented analyses of poverty and deprivation in which the identification of pattern is used to advance a critique of current policy aimed at alleviating multiple deprivation (Pacione 1990b; 1992). Proponents of geographical analyses maintain that an area-based perspective can be justified on several grounds. Some, such as Donnison (1974), have argued for a degree of ‘area effect’ in accentuating if not actually causing deprivation.

THE GEOGRAPHY OF POVERTY AND DEPRIVATION Structural forces notwithstanding people live locally and exper ience the prosperity and problems of their own localities. Furthermore, as we have seen, at all geographical scales poverty and deprivation have been shown to exhibit strong spatial concentration. Second, the identification of spatial patterns is an essential starting point in understanding the local incidence of social disadvantage. As Brunhes (1920) noted more than seventy-five years ago, the study of poverty should mean not simply statistics but an attempt at precise localisation. Since to fix the topographical distribution of poverty is a means of knowing it more exactly, it is doubtless also a means of relieving it and curing it in a less abstract and more efficacious manner. As Pacione (1995c) demonstrated, the application of area-based indicators at the national and regional levels provides a basis for local survey analyses that can facilitate a more informed allocation of available resources targeted at specific places and populations. Third, as Rivlin (1971: p. 146) pointed out, ‘to do better we must have some way of distinguishing better from worse.’ Analysis of the nature, intensity and distribution of multiple deprivation permits comparisons both spatially within countries, regions and cities and over time (Pacione 1986), and facilitates monitoring of the effectiveness of remedial strategies. Fourth, while the long-term ideal may remain a fundamental politicaleconomic restructuring to tackle the roots of inequality in society, area-based policies of positive discrimination formulated on the basis of applied geographical research can provide more immediate benefits that enable some people to improve some aspects of their quality of life. For most applied human geographers, to seek to reduce the difficulties facing deprived people and places represents a realistic assessment that both long-term restructuring and shortterm ameliorative action are required. To do nothing in the short term in the hope of the capitalist system being brought to an end by its inherent contradictions is tantamount to

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allowing the excesses of the system to continue unchecked. This is of little benefit to those currently burdened by the effects of poverty and deprivation. An effective assault on the problems of poverty and deprivation requires appropriate action at several scales, comprising a combination of ‘people policies’ operating over the longer term at the structural level with the aim of achieving redistribution of society’s wealth, and more immediate ‘place policies’ to improve the current position of the disadvantaged. More specifically, at the structural level a primary requirement is recognition of the fact that the disadvantaged position of the poor is linked inextricably with the privileged position of the wealthy. This requires enaction of a policy that addresses the fundamental question of the distribution of society’s wealth. In the shorter term, easing central controls over local authorities in accordance with the principle of subsidiarity could enable the lower tier more latitude to undertake activities of direct benefit to local disadvantaged groups. Local government itself must seek to devise more effective strategies to attract private sector investment into depr ived areas, via either persuasion (e.g. tax relief) or direction (via linked development and leverage schemes), with the particular mix depending on the strength of the local economy. Local authorities must also foster the empowerment of local communities to capitalise on the human resources of deprived areas. Ideally, this will involve devolution of financial and political power to the neighbourhood level, with greater participation of residents in budget for mulation and plan preparation for their area. Applied geographers are well placed to contribute to these objectives by under taking research into the causes and consequences of poverty, and by initiating critical appraisal of policies aimed at alleviating the economic, social and environmental problems that continue to impact on the well-being of a significant proportion of the world’s population.

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GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

The nature and definition of poverty in an international context is discussed in P.Townsend (1993) The International Analysis of Poverty, New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Poverty in the particular context of the third world is examined in United Nations Centre for Human Setlements (1996) An Urbanising World, Oxford: OUP; while K.McFate, R.Lawson and W.Wilson (1995) Poverty, Inequality and the Future of Social Policy, New York: Russell Sage; and A.Walker and C.Walker (1997) Britain Divided: The Growth of Social Exclusion in the 1980s and 1990s, London: Child Poverty Action Group, consider the problems of poverty in advanced capitalist societies. Particular examples of the application of an applied geographical approach to the analysis of poverty and deprivation are provided by M.Pacione (1995) ‘The geography of multiple deprivation in Scotland’, Applied Geography 15(2), 115–33; M. Pacione (1995) ‘The geography of deprivation in rural Scotland’, Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 20, 173–92; and in Part II of D.Smith (1994) Geography and Social Justice, Oxford: Blackwell.

REFERENCES Allen, T. and Thomas, A. (1992) Poverty and Development in the 1990s. Oxford: OUP. Anand, S. and Ravallion, M. (1998) Human development in poor countries. Journal of Economic Perspectives 7(1), 133–50. Benzeval, M. et al. (1995) Tackling Inequalities in Health. London: King’s Fund. Beveridge, W. (1942) Social insurance and allied services. Cmnd 6404. London: HMSO. Brunhes, J. (1920) Human Geography. London: G. Harrap. Bunge, W. and Bordessa, R. (1975) The Canadian alternative. Geographical expeditions and urban change. Geographical Monograph No. 2, Toronto: York University. Chambers, R. (1994) Poverty and livelihoods: where reality counts? Environment and Urbanisation 7(1), 7–14. Convery, P. (1997) Unemployment. In A.Walker and C.Walker (eds) Britain Divided: The Growth of Social Exclusion in the 1980s and 1990s, London: CPAG, 170–97.

Donnison, D. (1974) Policies for pr ior ity areas. Journal of Social Policy 3, 127–35. Donnison, D. and Middleton, A. (1987) Regenerating the Inner City. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Feres, J. and Leon, A. (1990) The magnitude of poverty in Latin America. CEPAL Review 41, 133–51. Findlay, A. (1994) Life expectancy. In T.Unwin (ed.) Atlas of World Development, Chichester:Wiley, 102–4. Goodman, A., Johnson, P. and Webb, S. (1997) Inequality in the United Kingdom. London: Institute for Fiscal Studies. Gordon, I. and Whittaker, R. (1972) Indicators of local prosperity in the south-west region. Regional Studies 6, 229–313. Green, A. (1994) The Geography of Poverty and Wealth. Coventry: University of Warwick. Harrison, P. (1985) Inside the Inner City. London: Pelican. Hills, F. (1995) Inquiry into Income and Wealth, Vol. 2. York: Joseph Rowntree Foundation. Jazairy, I., Mohiuddin, A. and Panuccio, T. (1992) The State of World Rural Poverty. London: IT Publications. Lyson, T. (1989) Two Sides to the Sunbelt: The Growing Divergence Between the Rural and Urban South. New York: Praeger. Main, H. and Williams, J. (1994) Environment and Housing in Third World Cities. Chichester:Wiley. Mingione, E. (1996) Urban Poverty and the Underclass. Oxford: Blackwell. Misra, H. (1994) Housing and environment in an Indian city. In H.Mair and S.Williams (eds) Environment and Housing in Third World Cities, Chichester: Wiley, 191–206. Pacione, M. (1986) The changing pattern of deprivation in Glasgow. Scottish Geographical Magazine 102, 97–109. Pacione, M. (1989) The urban cr isis: poverty and deprivation in the Scottish city. Scottish Geographical Magazine 105, 101–15. Pacione, M. (1990a) What about people? A critical analysis of urban policy in the UK. Geography 75, 193–202. Pacione, M. (1990b) The ecclesiastical community of interest as a response to urban poverty and deprivation. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 15, 193– 204. Pacione, M. (1992) Citizenship, partnership and the popular restructuring of urban space. Urban Geography 13, 405–21. Pacione, M. (1993) The geography of the urban crisis: some evidence from Glasgow. Scottish Geographical Magazine 109(2), 87–95. Pacione, M. (1995a) The geography of multiple deprivation in the Clydeside conurbation. Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie 86(5), 407–25.

THE GEOGRAPHY OF POVERTY AND DEPRIVATION Pacione, M. (1995b) The geography of multiple depri vation in Scotland. Applied Geography 15(2), 115–33. Pacione, M. (1995c) The geography of deprivation in rural Scotland. Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 20, 173–92. Pacione, M. (1997a) The geography of educational disadvantage in Glasgow. Applied Geography 17(3), 169–92. Pacione, M. (1997b) Urban restructuring and the reproduction of inequality in Britain’s cities. In M.Pacione (ed.) Britain’s Cities: Geographies of Division in Urban Britain, London: Routledge, 7–60. Partha, D. and Weale, M. (1992) On measuring the quality of life. World Development 20(1), 119–31. Rivlin, A. (1971) Systematic Thinking for Social Action. Washington, DC: Brookings Institute. Rowntree, S. (1901) Poverty. London: Macmillan.

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Smith, D. (1973) Human Geography: A Welfare Approach. London:Arnold. Smith, D. (1994) Geography and Social Justice. Oxford: Blackwell. Townsend, P. (1993) The International Analysis of Poverty. New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf. United Nations Centre for Human Settlements (1996) An Urbanising World. Oxford: OUP. Weild, D. (1992) Unemployment and making a living. In T.Allen and A.Thomas (eds) Poverty and Development in the 1990s, Oxford: OUP, 55–77. WHO (1992) Our Planet, Our Health. Geneva:WHO. Wilkenson, R. (1992) Income distribution and life expectancy. British Medical Journal 304, 165–8. Wilson, J. (1969) Quality of Life in the United States. Kansas City: Midwest Research Institute.

30 Segregation and discrimination David Herbert

INTRODUCTION

Segregation and discrimination are key words in the lexicon of social geography. Whereas segregation is the more widely used word and concept, it has integral links with the process of discrimination and also with other key processes such as assimilation and prejudice. Over the longer history of social geography, studies have been dominated by the influence of race and ethnicity, but now include gender, sexuality, impairment and age. Race has dominated, but one thesis is that race and class are closely intertwined, and a key function of discrimination and segregation is to deny access to greater wealth and status.There are de facto separate residential areas as the products of discrimination and segregation. The ability of the suburb to maintain and enhance its separateness and distinctive character is as much a testimony to the power of these processes as is the persistence of the impover ished ghetto. In the social geography of the city, this mosaic of residential areas with its visible symbols of power and prestige on the one hand and disadvantage and poverty, on the other, offers evidence of discrimination and segregation as key social, economic and political processes. Discrimination is defined variously as ‘to set up or observe a difference’, ‘to treat differentially’, especially on the grounds of sex, race or religion and is a set of values from which actions may flow. Banton (1994) argued that discrimination is an individual action but that since members of the same group are treated in similar ways, it is

typically a social pattern of aggregate behaviour. Again, the sets of attitudes tend to be transmitted from one generation to another and are difficult to dispel or even to modify. The effect of discrimination may be to create or increase inequalities between classes of persons and make discrimination more frequent (ibid.: 8). Segregation is the more common theme in social geography, probably because it has meaning both as a process and as an outcome or condition. To segregate is defined as ‘isolating’, ‘putting apart from the rest’, ‘the separation of one particular class of people from another on grounds such as race. Segregation has stronger behavioural imperatives than discrimination; it is more an action or activity that underpins the actuality of separate and different geographical spaces. The main such space is residential, but segregation also finds expression in education with segregated schools and in the workplace, reflecting real divisions within society. Discrimination and segregation are common processes that underpin most of society, but recent geographies have tended to focus on the exceptional rather than the broad bases, and one aim in this discussion will be to maintain the kind of balance that the theme deserves. The chapter therefore begins with a summary of the proven significance of discrimination and segregation in the understanding of race and class and residential areas. It will take the opportunity to examine the value of new approaches, including those of cultural geographies, to our understanding of these well-studied schemes. Second, it will examine school segregation, which has been a powerful

SEGREGATION AND DISCRIMINATION theme in the United States, especially during the second half of the twentieth century. Third, the more recent focus on the exceptional groups such as gypsies and the sexually deviant will be considered, and then, finally, attention is given to the new forms of financial exclusion being practised by organisations able to influence the flows of funds to individuals and groups.

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Table 30.2 Measures of segregation: indices of dissimilarity in US cities, 1970–90 (black-white segregation).

DISCRIMINATION AND SEGREGATION IN RESIDENTIAL AREAS

When Burgess (1925) proposed his concentric model and Hoyt (1939) his sector theory of neighbourhood change, they were both identifying the facts of residential separation and segregated areas. Neither focused strongly on the meaning and significance of the processes of discrimination and segregation that produced these patterns.Their key assumptions were related to the economics of land use and the power of the bid-rent curve. The social area analysts used segregation in more explicit ways, and the ethnic and class ‘dimensions’ were central features of the type of social area analysis developed both by Shevky and Bell (1955) and by the legion of factorial ecologists (see Herbert and Thomas 1997). Whereas the thrust of this form of social Table 30.1 Measures of segregation: indices of dissimilarity in British cities, 1991 (from white population).

Source: After Massey and Denton 1993. Note: The index of dissimilarity has a range from 0 to 100, where 100 equals totally segregated.

geography was to identify and classify residential areas in the city, the separate strand of social segregation researchers, best exemplified by the ‘dissimilarists’ (Peach 1996; Taeuber 1988), was concerned exclusively with racial segregation and ethnic areas. From the studies of the social area analysts came consistent evidence of the dimensions that led to residential separation in cities—social class, ethnic differences, stage in family life cycles, migrant status, housing conditions. From the dissimilarists came clear statements on the extent of racial segregation and its persistence over time. Consistently, black Americans have the highest levels of segregation (Massey and Denton 1993); in British cities, Peach (1996) found evidence for change, with Bangladeshis possessing the highest levels of segregation, although conditions nowhere resembled a ghetto.

THE ETHNIC GHETTO

Source: After Peach 1996. Note: The index of dissimilarity has a range from 0 to 100, where 100 equals totally segregated.

The term ‘ghetto’ is emotive but draws together many of the significant features of discrimination and segregation. In the literature of the social sciences, ghetto is a racial concept. Peach (1996) noted that the two defining conditions for a ghetto—being dominated by a single ethnic or racial group and containing most members of that

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group—were only really met in ethnic minority areas. Boal (1978) provided an early attempt by a geographer to give specific meaning to the term ‘ghetto’ with his typology of colony, enclave and ghetto. Boal recognised the diversity of ethnic areas and the varying contributions of choices and constraints that led to their formation. The status of ethnic minorities relates to their migration histories and to the social distance that separates them from the charter group or host society. Jackson and Penrose (1993) argued that terms such as ‘minority’, ‘race’ and ‘ethnic’ were socially constructed, the products of specific historical and geographical forces. Assimilation is a key process, and whereas behavioural assimilation, whereby members of a minority group acquire the values and mores of the host society, is both achievable and within the control of the minority group, structural assimilation, or acceptance into occupational, educational and housing markets, is much more difficult. Discrimination becomes active as minority group members are prevented from achieving structural assimilation, and the outcome is segregation and disadvantage. Mason (1995) argued that studies of minority groups often stress the differences rather than the diversity. Difference implies a ‘norm’ from which some groups deviate and can be ‘rescued’ by assimilation; diversity accepts differences with no

necessary imperative of integration. Geographers have recognised the overarching significance of this process of discrimination, although Boal (1978; 1987) and others have shown that some choice mechanisms are also at work. Boal classified these as defensive, avoidance, preservation and resistance and argued that they could be applied, for example, to some Asian communities in Britain and to Chinese immigrants in American cities (Plate 30.1). Preservation is probably the most important of these choice mechanisms and suggests that minority groups may want to remain segregated in order to preserve their language, religion and culture, which might otherwise be quickly lost in a new society. Choice mechanisms are of much less significance where discrimination is greatest and the facts of segregation are accompanied by disadvantage, as summarised by the huge disparities between parts of black inner cities and exclusive white suburbs in the United States. Black minority groups have typically suffered the worst discrimination and have experienced the highest levels of residential segregation (Figure 30.1). Despite the establishment of civil rights legislation and the signs of progress and change, de Vise (1994) stated that de facto residential segregation in Chicago remained very high. Massey and Denton (1993) argued that few Americans realised Plate 30.1 An ethnic area: New York’s Chinatown. Chinatowns are among the most persistent segregated areas and involve choice as well as constraint. Such areas allow the preservation of language, religion and cultural values.

SEGREGATION AND DISCRIMINATION Figure 30.1 Johannesburg, 1985; segregated city.

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failure prevails, and where social and physical deterioration abound. (Massey and Denton 1993:2) For American black populations, these ghettoforming processes are well understood and spring almost entirely from prejudice and discrimination. For Massey and Denton (1993), the black ghetto was constructed through a series of well-defined practices and policies designed by whites to contain the growing black urban populations. There are other ethnic minorities groups where the processes are less straightforward, as Dennis (1997) showed in his analysis of the emergence of Jewish areas in Toronto. Established Jewish families played a role and:

Source: After Christopher 1994.

the depth of black segregation or the degree to which it was maintained by ongoing institutional arrangements and individual actions, and Aponte (1991) argued that substantial black inner city populations were still ‘hopelessly mired in poverty’. Wilson (1987) was a catalyst for studies of change among the American black population. His central argument was that residualisation, marginalisation and exclusion within black residential areas had led to an underclass of the ‘truly disadvantaged’. As stable families, those with jobs and social aspirations, and community leaders moved out, they left welfare-dependent areas with many lone-parent families, high unemployment, and a high incidence of crime and drugs. Perhaps the most significant loss was that of a sense of place, of belonging and of community, which had held many of these people together. Because of racial segregation, a significant share of black America is condemned to experience a social environment where poverty and joblessness are the norm, where a majority of children are born out of wedlock, where most families are on welfare, where educational

Ghetto-ization was not just a consequence of poverty or a need for a cultural identity but also a strategy on the part of self-styled community leaders to limit the impact of large-scale immigration on mainstream Toronto society. (ibid.: 378)

SEGREGATED SCHOOLS

Racial segregation in the United States and elsewhere is not confined to residential areas. Education is another example of the impact of discrimination, and it is only in the second half of the twentieth century that the American justice system has made substantive moves to end the dual system of segregated schools. From the 1950s to the 1970s, the issue of school deseg regation dominated the politics of education. Studies such as that by Lowry (1973) in Mississippi documented the slow process of change from completely separate schools with wide disparities to some measure of integrated state education. Devices such as ‘separate but equal’ and ‘freedom of choice’ were used by local school boards to hinder the federally driven process of desegregation. Key decisions in the courts, such as Brown versus Topeka School Board in 1954 and 1955, Alexander versus Holmes County in 1969, and Swann versus Mecklenburg in 1971, removed the legal bases of

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CHALLENGES OF THE HUMAN ENVIRONMENT

segregation. Fiss (1977) argued that one problem for the law makers was that of distinguishing between segregation as a process or activity whereby students were assigned to particular schools on the basis of race, and segregation as a demographic pattern with whites in one school and blacks in another. In the Brown decision, the court felt no need to make the distinction and simply held the dual school system to be unlawful. The issue of whether racial assignment per se was illegal was settled in the Swann case, which judged that racial assignment was unlawful if it was used to achieve segregation. On the other hand, racial assignment intended to reduce or eliminate segregation was lawful. Segregation as a demographic pattern was judged to be unlawful because it led to inequalities in schooling and stigmatised black children. Since the 1970s, the effectiveness of policies to reduce levels of school seg regation has diminished for several reasons. First, white parents have been removing their children from state schools. This ‘white flight’ has involved families with the means to afford school fees, and the effect has been to maintain segregation and widen disparities. Second, some judicial decisions have strengthened the powers of school boards, and many of the actions designed to produce integration, such as busing, have been abandoned. Third, the absence of any significant changes in residential seg regation means that school populations reflect the residential areas in which they are placed and remain segregated. Clark (1984) showed that the chang ing ethnic compositions of Los Angeles’ schools were directly related to demographic changes in their neighbourhood catchment areas. His sample set reflected the effects of white flight, outward white migration and the large influx of Hispanic families.

THE OTHER MINORITIES

Geographies of minority groups have focused on the larger minorities such as American blacks and British Asians, who aspire to accommodation

within mainstream society. There are other minorities who arguably suffer even higher levels of discrimination and segregation. Indigenous Indian populations in both Canada and the United States are still linked with territorial reservations and rank lowest in terms of economic status. In Europe, the gypsies have suffered discrimination in many societies and remain on the margins of acceptability. Sibley (1992) argued that the boundaries of society are continually being redrawn to distinguish between those who belong and those who are excluded. Gypsies commonly belong to this excluded category with characteristics that make them not just different but deviant. Because they have a way of life that is regarded as negative and inferior, gypsies become legitimised targets for discrimination. Their economy revolves around domestic scrap, lowlevel repairs and services and appears to fit their designation on the margins of society. Gypsies occupy marginal places that by association become labelled as unsafe and undesirable. Gypsy sites have to be provided by law in the United Kingdom, but they are inevitably contested places as local residents object to their proximity. Images of lack of cleanliness, dubious work practices, violence and antagonism are associated with gypsies.Those who control nearby space will seek to exclude gypsies. Another extreme case in the landscapes of exclusion has been the fate of the mentally ill. Over long periods, they were institutionalised and isolated by forces motivated more by fear and the need to contain rather than by welf are considerations. When the process of deinstitutionalisation that brought many mentally ill people back into communities took place in the 1960s, it was driven by economics rather than by any changing attitude towards the well-being of the g roup. The exper ience of deinstitutionalisation has served to confirm the prevalence of discrimination against the mentally ill and to expose the myth of community care. Conflict arose from both the assignment problem and the attempt to match mentally ill people to treatment settings and the siting problem, or the fitting of type of facility to community. Unless

SEGREGATION AND DISCRIMINATION

Plate 30.2 A rescue mission in Vancouver’s skid row. The run-down areas of low-cost rooming houses in North American cities are inhabited by the real havenots in society. Many suffer from diseases such as mental illness and alcoholism.

close family was available, both the communitybased facilities and the mentally ill were rejected. New forms of spatial segregation arose through neighbourhood resistance to facilities, from planners’ tendency to locate after-care facilities in those inner city areas that showed least resistance, and from the informal filtering or drift of mentally ill people towards transient rented areas. The mentally ill remain a class of outsiders, clustering in inner city areas and strongly over-represented among the homeless, the low-cost boarding houses (Plate 30.2) and the prison population. As Sibley (1992) argued, outsiders are those groups that do not fit into dominant models of society and are seen as ‘polluting’. Such groups disturb the homogeneity of a locality, and the common reaction of a hostile community will be to expel them and purify spaces. There are other minorities, distinguished by their sexuality, that have become visible in Western cities and rank as outsiders. Cities have always had districts associated with the ‘sex trade’, which carry euphemisms such as ‘vice areas’ and ‘redlight districts’. Generally, the attitude of society is that if such activities are to be tolerated, they should be confined to specific areas where they can be controlled and monitored; districts such as London’s Soho and the red-light district of Amsterdam are outcomes of this process. The professionals of the sex industry are confined to

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such districts for the practice of their trade, although not necessarily for their residences. In the moral geographies of the city, vice areas are at the lowest point of the scale. A different kind of moral geography has emerged with the greater willingness of sections of society with different sexual proclivities to become visible. Gays and lesbians form minority groups that are regarded as deviant by the dominant society. Forest (1995) studied the West Hollywood district of Los Angeles as an example of a place with a gay identity. His focus was on portrayals of the gay community in the press and, in particular, the attempts by the gay press to link sexual meanings to particular places and thus represent gay minorities in ways similar to ethnic minorities. This concept of diversity and the rights of minorities to occupy specific spaces combats the older image of exclusion or the need to confine ‘perverts’ and moral failures to excluded places. This perspective suggests that place has a key role in allowing minorities to resist domination: there is some shift from constraint and exclusion to choice and recognition. Places where gays and lesbians are accepted become places where they are empowered, and the whole process of ‘coming out’ is enabled in environments of this kind. Gay territories play significant parts in the evolution of gay identities and subcultures. In West Hollywood, there are symbols of gay identity that conform to the characteristics of many of its inhabitants; place plays a fundamental role in the creation of a ‘normative ideal’. Valentine (1993a; 1993b) studied the space behaviour of lesbians in British cities and revealed the difficulties faced by this minority group in a society dominated by a different form of sexuality.

LANDSCAPES OF PRIVILEGE

The most commonly cited examples of segregation and discrimination focus on the disadvantaged, but at the other ends of the social status spectrum are the landscapes of privilege, where the wealthy establish their residential spaces. Places such as Beverly Hills, Hampstead

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and Nob Hill also serve as icons of segregation and discrimination. Hoyt’s (1939) sector model was strongly influenced by his identification of high-grade residential areas, and Firey (1947) provided a classical analysis of the way in which residents of ‘old Boston’ worked to maintain the character and status of Beacon Hill as it came under threat from city centre expansion. He spoke of the sentiment and symbolism associated with the area and the cultural motives of the families who strove to preserve it. In a later study, Domosh (1992) studied the comparable highstatus area of Back Bay in Boston. She argued that by the late nineteenth century Boston’s upper classes were remarkably cohesive and the Boston Association had been established to protect their interests. The Back Bay residential development embodied the ideologies of the elite and allowed them to distance themselves from new immigrants. Whereas Beacon Hill belonged to ‘old Boston’, Back Bay provided residences for the new moneyed upper-income groups. Both places were outcomes of the felt need for the wealthy to segregate and to place distance between themselves and the lower classes. From new cultural geographers there have emerged studies of the ways in which specific residential areas have acquired and retained segregated high status, often in the face of significant difficulties. Shaughnessy Heights in Vancouver is an elite landscape with strong historical roots and a modern reproduction (Duncan 1992). Originally, Shaughnessy Heights was a high-status development featuring Englishstyle country houses, which carried the dual connotation of a link to the gentry and to Englishness. In response to threats to its status and character, residents successfully organised a preservation movement and were helped by a wide cross-section of the urban population that recognised its symbolic significance to the city as a whole. Shaughnessy Heights is not simply a cultural production (a mater ial landscape) interpenetrated by political and economic

structures; it is also a cultural (reproduction in that it reproduces the meaning of belonging to an Anglophile elite in a west Canadian city. (ibid.: 50)

FINANCIAL EXCLUSIONS

A key economic mechanism that stems from discrimination and produces forms of segregation is related to the control of financial credit. The term ‘financial exclusion’ has been used to describe a situation in which large numbers of people are denied access to credit and the benefit of financial services. Some people, such as those on very low incomes, will be ‘outside’ the financial system by choice (Ford and Rowlinson 1996), but for many their inability to achieve inclusion in financial services is an increasing disadvantage (Box 30.1).The broadest correlate of financial exclusion is social class, but there is evidence of the relevance of other factors such as race, age and gender. Some of the older forms of financial exclusion reveal both racial and social class dimensions and has led directly to spatial segregation. Leyshon and Thrift (1997:229) argued that the geography of income and wealth shaped access to the financial system. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer as lending flows towards wealthy areas, with low credit risks, and in high volumes per capita as credit available is often a multiple of income. In poorer areas there may be a downward spiral of decline as residents of such areas find it hard to sell or buy property and businesses are unable to obtain credit. (Dymski and Veitch 1992) The impact of financial exclusion policies in the housing market has been evident for some time. Building societies in Britain practised a policy of ‘red-lining’ by which they refused loans in specific areas of perceived high risk. A study of inner city Birmingham (CDP 1974) showed that only 7 per cent of owner-occupiers held a mortgage at the prevailing rate of interest, and low-income families

SEGREGATION AND DISCRIMINATION

exper ienced a general round of housing discrimination.The continuing decay of the inner city was strongly driven by the unwillingness of financial institutions to invest in these areas. Restrictive practices in the housing market have ameliorated with civil rights and race relations legislation and with the re-regulation of the financial system, which led to mor tgage availability under the ‘right to buy’ policy. This flexibility ended in the 1990s with the retreat of the financial system to its traditional middle-class heart land (Leyshon and Thrift 1997) and the redirection of credit away from poorer and towards richer social groups as a strategy of risk avoidance. Financial exclusion has ramifications well outside the particular case of the housing market. Bank accounts, cheque cards, credit cards, noncash transactions and short-term loans have become essential parts of society. Without access to at least some of these facilities, people are placed at significant disadvantage. In Britain, credit

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transfers or crossed cheques are used to pay, for example, benefits and pensions but about 35 per cent of this group do not have a bank account. Credit cards, store cards and hire purchase are not available to low-income groups, yet these are increasingly common as modes of transaction. There is evidence for more aggressive banking practice involving, for example, the reintroduction of charges for those with low balances, the closing of accounts with low balances and few transactions, and branch bank closures in areas where the volume of business is judged to be unsatisfactory. Christopherson (1993) argued that there was a relationship between an underlying geography of income and class and the pattern of financial service branch closure. The evidence from the United States is of withdrawal of financial services from poorer communities, principally the African-American and Hispanic inner city areas. Davis (1990) referred to this as contributing to the ‘spatial apartheid’ of the American urban system (Box 30.2). No study of

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Box 30.2 The two worlds of Los Angeles THE EXCLUDED

Unemployment among Black youths in Los Angeles county remained at 45 per cent through the late 1980s. A survey of ghetto housing projects revealed 120 employed out of 1060 households in Nickerson Gardens. (p. 305) The deteriorating labour market position of young Black men is the main reason for the counter-economy of drugs and crime. Forty per cent of children in Los Angeles county lived at or below the official poverty line. (p. 306) Aside from 230 Black and Latino gangs, there are over 80 Asian. Gangs are now much more interested in drugsales territories than traditional turfs. (p. 316) The Californian educational system is in steep decline. Public schools in veritable ‘children’s ghettoes’ are overburdened. Racial isolation has assumed an overlay of class isolation. (p. 307)

segregation should underestimate the roles played by the major financial institutions and their managers.

CONCLUSION

Despite the long record of legislation designed to reduce or eliminate the effects of discrimination and seg regation, these show a remarkable persistence in many parts of the world.There have been changes of major significance such as civil rights legislation in the United States, race relations acts in the United Kingdom and the transition of South Africa from an apartheid state. Legislation will always be needed to provide the legalistic framework within which policies can be developed and practices improved, but the main battle is for hearts and minds. Whereas major studies, such as those on Amer ican ethnic minorities (Wilson 1987; Massey and Denton 1993) confir m the continuing existence of segregation and disparities as the norms of urban life, there are signs of progress, which include more access to jobs, education and housing for groups with long histories of segregation. Residential segregation on racial lines persists and underlies many other forms of separation in schools,

THE INCLUDED

The carefully manicured lawns of Los Angeles’ Westside sprout forests of ominous little signs warning ‘Armed Response’. Even richer neighbourhoods in the canyons and hillsides isolate themselves behind walls guarded by guntoting private police and state-of-the-art electronic surveillance. (p. 223) Where the itineraries of the Downtown powerbrokers unavoidably intersect with the habitats of the homeless or the working poor, extra ordinary design precautions are taken to ensure the physical separation of the different humanities. (p. 234) We live in ‘fortress cities’ brutally divided between the ‘fortified cells’ of affluent society and ‘places of terror’ where police battle the criminalized poor. (p. 224) Source: After Davis 1992.

community activities, workplaces and financial markets. In the foreseeable future, it is unlikely that these patterns of residential segregation will change, and the need to direct resources, power and involvement to underprivileged communities remains a high priority. In the United States, the 1977 Community Reinvestment Act significantly empowered local communities in their fight to retain access to financial services; credit unions and community development banks help to fill the gap for lower-income households. Leyshon and Thrift (1997) make a case for ‘financial citizenship’ in Br itain, with more responsible banks and alternative financial services for the low-paid. Desegregation is a more elusive goal than greater equality, fewer disparities and segregation resting much less on discrimination and much more on choice and preference. Perhaps the most wor rying trend in Western societies is the accentuating nature of social exclusion in its many forms. Reforms allow more people to move ‘inside’ society and to take part in its processes, but outside is the increasingly sharply defined group of the truly disadvantaged, the real poor with their subculture of differences. An understanding of the causes and consequences of these processes is a priority for applied social geography.

SEGREGATION AND DISCRIMINATION GUIDE TO FURTHER READING

Herbert, D.T. and Thomas, C.J. (1997) Cities in Space: City as Place. London: Fulton. Comprehensive text with detail on many forms of spatial segregation. Leyshon, A. and Thrift, N. (1997) Money/Space: Geographies of Monetary Transformations. London: Routledge. Detailed commentar y on the geographies of financial exclusion. Massey, D.S. and Denton, N.A. (1993) American Apartheid: Segregation and the Making of the Underclass. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Analysis of the effects of racial discrimination and segregation in the United States over time. Anderson, K. and Gale, F. (eds) (1992) Inventing Places: Studies in Cultural Geography. Melbourne: Longman-Cheshire. Excellent range of case studies exemplifying the new cultural geography. REFERENCES Aponte, R. (1991) Urban Hispanic poverty, disaggregations and explanations. Social Problems 38, 516–28. Banton, M. (1994) Discrimination. Buckingham: Open University Press. Boal, F.W. (1978) Ethnic residential segregation. In D.T.Herbert and R.J.Johnston (eds) Social Areas in Cities, London:Wiley, 57–95. Boal, F.W. (1987) Segregation. In M.Pacione (ed.) Social Geography: Progress and Prospect, London: Croom Helm, 90–128. Burgess, E.W. (1925) The growth of the city. In R.E. Park, E.W.Burgess and R.D.McKenzie (eds) The City, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 47–62. Christopherson, S. (1993) Market rules and territorial outcomes: the case of the United States. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 17, 214–32. Clark,W.A.V. (1984) Judicial intervention, busing and local residential change. In D.T.Herbert and R.J.Johnston (eds) Geography and the Urban Environment 6, 245–81. Community Development Project (1974) Inter-Project Report. London: HMSO. Davis, M. (1990) City of Quartz: Excavating the Future in Los Angeles. London:Vintage.

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Dennis, R. (1997) Property and propriety: Jewish landlords in early twentieth century Toronto. Transactions, Institute of British Geographers 22, 377–97. de Vise, P. (1994) Integration in Chicago forty years after Brown. Urban Geography 15, 454–69. Domosh, M. (1992) Controlling urban for m: the development of Boston’s Back Bay. Journal of Historical Geography 18, 288–306. Duncan, J. (1992) Elite landscapes as cultural (re)productions: the case of Shaughnessy Heights. In K.Anderson and F.Gale (eds) Inventing Places: Studies in Cultural Geography, Melbourne: Longman-Cheshire, 37–51. Dymski, G. and Veitch, J. (1992) Race and the Financial Dynamics of Urban Growth: LA as Fay Wray. Working Paper 92–21, Department of Economics, University of California, Riverside. Firey, W.E. (1947) Land Use in Central Boston. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Fiss, O.M. (1977) School desegregation: the uncertain path of the law. In M.Cohen, T.Nagel and T. Scanlon (eds) Equality and Preferential Treatment, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 155–91. Ford, J. and Rowlinson, K. (1996) Low-income households and credit: exclusion, preference and inclusion. Environment and Planning A 28, 1345–60. Forest, B. (1995) West Hollywood as symbol: the significance of place in the construction of a gay identity. Society and Space 13, 133–57. Hoyt, H. (1939) The Structure and Growth of Residential Neighbourhoods in American Cities. Washington, DC: Federal Housing Administration. Jackson, P. and Penrose, J. (eds) (1993) Constructions of Race, Place and Nation. London: UCL Press. Lowry, M. (1973) Schools in transition. Annals, Association of American Geographers 63, 167–80. Leyshon, A. and Thrift, N. (1997) Money/Space: Geographies of Monetary Transformation. Routledge: London. Massey, D.S. and Denton, N.A. (1993) American Apartheid: Segregation and the Making of the Underclass. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Peach, G.C.K. (1996) Does Br itain have ghettos? Transactions, Institute of British Geographers 21, 216–35. Mason, D. (1995) Race and Ethnicity in Modern Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shevky, E. and Bell,W. (1955) Social Area Analysis. Stanford: University of California Press. Sibley, D. (1992) Outsiders in society and space. In K.Anderson and F.Gale (eds) Inventing Places: Studies in Cultural Geography, Melbourne: Longman-Cheshire, 107–22.

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Taueber, A.F. (1988) A practitioner’s perspective on the index of dissimilarity. American Sociological Review 41, 884–9. Valentine, G. (1993a) Negotiating and managing multiple sexual identities; lesbian time-space strategies. Transactions, Institute of British Geographers 18, 237–48.

Valentine, G. (1993b) (Hetero)-sexing space: lesbian perceptions and experiences of everyday spaces. Society and Space 11, 395–413. Wilson, W.J. (1987) The Truly Disadvantaged:The Inner City, the Underclass and Public Policy. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

31 Socio-spatial variations in health Matthew Smallman-Raynor and David Phillips

INTRODUCTION

The term ‘health’ (stemming from the Old English word hael, or ‘whole’) means different things to different people (Kiple 1993: pp. 45– 110). In modern Western medicine, for example, a ‘healthy’ person or place is often judged according to the absence (or otherwise) of a medically defined disease or disorder.The charter of the World Health Organization (WHO) favours a broader definition of health as a ‘state of complete physical, mental and social wellbeing and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity’ (WHO: 1988: p. 1). At a more abstract level, health can be defined according to the unidirectional nature of time; as Hudson (1993) notes, unless other factors intervene, our genetic programmes are inexorably geared towards disease and death. Other medical systems have placed yet further interpretations on health. In ancient Greek medicine, for example, health was viewed in terms of a balance in the bodily humours (blood, phlegm, and yellow and black bile), while notions of balance and harmony also underpinned conceptions of health in ancient Chinese and other Asian medical systems (Shigehisa 1993). There are numerous and varied examples of the ways in which health—however defined—can vary between individuals, groups of people and, equally importantly, between places (Vågerö 1991; 1995; Vågerö and Illsley 1993; West 1991; Wilkinson 1987). Moreover, health variations are apparent at every geographical scale, from the continents and macro-regions of the planet to the

districts and sub-districts of a single city. Seminal studies by G.Melvyn Howe (1986) on the global and world regional incidence of cancers, Gerald F. Pyle (1971) on national and local patterns of heart disease and stroke in the United States, and John A.Giggs (1973; 1988; 1990) on schizophrenia, affective psychoses and substance abuse in the city districts of Nottingham, England, are illustrative of the breadth and geographical range of the problem. Today, efforts to improve health status and to erase (or at least to substantially reduce) variations in the well-being of people and places lie at the heart of much global health policy. Spurred by the WHO’s Global Strategy for Health for All by the Year 2000, national governments and international agencies have launched a plethora of research initiatives to identify and monitor health inequalities (WHO 1994). The sociospatial dimensions of the research issue have secured an important and growing role for medical and health geographers. In particular, geog raphers have brought an increasing methodological sophistication in spatial analysis and statistical modelling (Cliff and Haggett 1988; Cliff, et al. 1998; Thomas 1992), geographical information systems (Openshaw 1990; de Leper et al. 1995; Bailey and Gatrel 1995; Gatrell and Bailey 1996) and, most recently, qualitative techniques (Litva and Eyles 1995; Eyles 1997) to bear on the problem. At the same time, a traditional concern of medical geography with the spatial and environmental parameters of infectious and parasitic diseases (classic diseases such as cholera, malaria, measles and tuberculosis,

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but also ‘newly emergent’ conditions such as the acquired immunodeficiency syndrome or AIDS) has broadened to include a spectrum of acute, chronic and degenerative conditions. These include life-threatening ailments such as cerebrovascular and cardiovascular disease (Learmonth 1988; Phillips and Verhasselt 1994; Iyun et al. 1995), possible autoimmune diseases such as multiple sclerosis (Foster 1992), and potentially disabling conditions that are likely to have both genetic and environmental underpinnings, such as eczema, asthma and hay fever (McNally et al. 1998). In part, these developments reflect a growing recognition that environmental factors may aggravate or trigger some health conditions, and specialists in fields as diverse as dermatology, genetics, oncology and toxicology have increasingly turned to medicohealth geography for clues to the environmental links in disease causation (Howe and Loraine 1980; Bentham 1994).

THE NATURE OF THE PROBLEM

Why does people’s health appear to vary so markedly according to who they are and where they live? The evidence is stark, but explanations are often complex. Early responses to poor public health involved the implementation of a range of sanitary measures to improve physical health. That approach, when combined with improved nutrition, education, housing and other welfare measures, resulted in a much reduced mortality from infectious diseases in the cities of late nineteenth-century Europe and North America (Jones and Moon 1987; Jones and Curtis 1997; Cliff et al. 1998). Further reductions in mortality from infectious diseases, including the remarkable feat of smallpox eradication, were achieved by vaccination and other medico-scientific interventions in the twentieth century (Fenner et al. 1988). By contrast, the twentieth century has witnessed relatively few ‘magic bullet’ successes in the control of chronic, degenerative and mental illnesses, many of which display distinct social and spatial patterns. So, with a few

exceptions, areas with a preponderance of people who are unemployed, or who are engaged in manual and semi-skilled jobs, are generally at an inflated risk for illnesses such as heart disease, certain types of cancer, cerebrovascular disease and some infectious conditions (Luoto et al. 1994; Lamont et al. 1997). Likewise, mental ill-health shows some socio-economic variations as well as marked spatial differences (Smith and Giggs 1988). However, the cause-and-effect issue is far from resolved. For example, do people with acute mental illnesses cluster in the less salubrious areas of cities due to some precipitating environmental factor? Alter natively, does the illness itself precipitate downward mobility in the housing market? While socio-spatial variations in health are apparent at all geographical scales, it is much more difficult to reach adequate explanations for those patterns. As described more fully below, spatial patterns of ill-health and mortality often correlate closely with measures of social class, income and/ or deprivation. But even at the finest levels of analysis (say, the districts of a single city), such associations rarely provide satisfactor y explanations for health variations. In some instances, the explanations are evident: an overcrowded slum with an unreliable supply of dr inking water, inadequate sanitation and sewerage systems is likely to provide an environment ripe for the rapid spread of an infectious disease such as cholera. But why are there similar socio-spatial variations in ailments (including many chronic, degenerative and mental illnesses) that have no apparent link to unsanitary conditions? This is much more difficult to explain, and a range of examples are to be seen in Iyun et al. (1995) and Harpham and Tanner (1995), among other sources. The determinants of health

Although explanations of health variations are often elusive, exponents of Western medicine have reached a broad consensus on the nexus of factors that impinge on human health (Learmonth 1988; WHO 1992; Tarlov 1996). These factors are

SOCIO-SPATIAL VARIATIONS IN HEALTH commonly referred to as the ‘determinants of health’ and fall into four broad categories: 1

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Human biological determinants, encompassing factors that are internal to the human body (for example, genetic composition, ageing and gender). Environmental determinants, encompassing environmental factors that are external to the human body. These factors can be further classified according to the physical environment (for example, climate and altitude), the social environment (for example, housing and population density), and the biological environment (for example, the presence and persistence of disease-causing microorganisms). Lifestyle determinants, encompassing personal behaviours that can threaten health (for example, personal hygiene, smoking, substance abuse and diet). Health-care system determinants, encompassing the resources devoted to health care and medicine in a population.

Current thought on the aetiology of many chronic, degenerative and mental illnesses has implicated a range of human biolog ical, environmental and lifestyle factors in disease expression (see Kiple 1993; McNally et al. 1998). For example, factors implicated in the aetiology of cardiovascular disease have included nervous stress, hypertension, cigarette smoking, physical inactivity, obesity, genetic predisposition and the existence of other diseases such as diabetes mellitus. It seems likely that some complex and, perhaps individualised, combinations of predisposing and precipitating factors ensure that some people, groups and places experience higher or lower rates of certain diseases. It is also apparent that, even in countries with high-grade systems of medical care, there may be spatial variations in the efficacy of programmes aimed at the early detection and successful treatment of lifethreatening illnesses (Expert Advisory Group on Cancer 1995).

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The epidemiological (health) transition

Environments, lifestyles and health-care systems alter with the processes of social and economic development. As development rarely (if ever) progresses at an even rate in a given geographical area, it follows that socio-spatial variations in health are intrinsically dynamic phenomena. One framework for analysing this dynamism is the concept of epidemiological transition (Omran 1971) and the broader concept of health transition (Caldwell et al. 1990). The concept of epidemiological transition was widely publicised by Abdel Omran in 1971 and since then has been the subject of empirical examination in many countries of both the developed and developing world (Frenk et al. 1989; 1996; Phillips 1990; 1994; Phillips and Verhasselt 1994). Indeed, such has been the impact of the concept that the wider subject area has spawned its own journal since 1991, Health Transition Review. In essence, the epidemiological transition envisages a process by which the mortality profile (and, by implication, the health profile) of a human population progresses through three distinct stages: Stage 1, a period with a preponderance of Old World epidemics and pandemics of infection and famine; Stage 2, a period of receding pandemics; and Stage 3, a per iod in which chronic, degenerative and human-induced ailments predominate. Each stage is associated with a decreasing death rate, a decreasing birth rate, an increasing life expectancy and demographic ageing. More recently, and for developed countries at least, Olshansky and Ault (1986) have posited a Stage 4 of the transition. This fourth stage is associated with advances in the medical treatment of chronic and degenerative diseases, thereby giving r ise to increased survivorship (but potentially worsening overall health status) in middle-aged and elderly populations. While the linear model of epidemiological transition provides a conceptual framework for studying the evolution of mortality patterns in particular, and health patterns more generally, it is obviously a simplification of a complex reality.The transition is widely affected in its timing and

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extent by socio-economic, scientific and infrastructural developments. The cities of many developing countr ies, for example, are experiencing a combination of high death rates from both infectious and degenerative diseases—a phenomenon that has been referred to as ‘delayed transition’ (Frenk et al. 1989; 1996). In this instance, the better-off residents have rapidly exhibited the disease profiles typical of Stage 3 of the transition, but their poorer neighbours often stand in double jeopardy from infectious and chronic/degenerative diseases (Phillips 1993; 1994). Moreover, for some countries of Latin America at least, Frenk et al. (1996) identify the re-emergence and intensification of diseases such as dengue, malaria and some sexually transmitted diseases as evidence of a ‘counter-transition’.

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5 CASE STUDIES

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Case study 1. Health variations and contemporary research in the United Kingdom

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Socio-spatial variations in health are a major issue influencing the policy and health practice of many countries (Power 1994; Marmot 1996). In the United Kingdom, for example, inequalities of the type described in Box 31.1 have formed the backdrop for a series of government health initiatives, including the 1980 Black Report (DHSS 1980), the 1992 Health of the Nation White Paper (Secretary of State for Health 1992) and, most recently, the 1998 Our Healthier Nation Green Paper (Secretary of State for Health 1998). These various initiatives have included the promotion of multidisciplinar y research programmes, one of the most prominent of which is the Health Variations Programme (HVP) funded by the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC). The HVP was launched in 1997 and seeks to further an understanding of the social processes that under pin health variations. In the programme’s first newsletter, Graham (1998) has identified seven key issues for research:

Life-course influences, concerned with the oneoff and cumulative effects on health at different life stages, and throughout life, and which later contr ibute to patter ns of inequality. Area effects, concerned with the extent to which the socio-economic characteristics of places have an effect on people’s health, over and above the effect of their socio-economic background. Income dynamics, concerned with the health effects of short- and long-term dependence on low income. Psycho-social processes, concerned with the health effects of psychological and social difficulties (for example, low self-esteem, depression and lack of social support). Policy impact, concerned with the impact of social welfare policies on health inequalities; Ethnicity, concerned with the extent to which patterns of health vary between and within ethnic groups. Gender and age differences, concerned with the extent to which patterns of health vary by gender and age group.

As described in Box 31.1, socio-spatial variations in health indicators such as longevity are persisting and, indeed, even widening in some parts of the United Kingdom. One priority of the HVP research agenda is to set explanations for these variations within a practical policy framework. This priority raises a number of operational issues, over and above any explanations for the variations. For example, to what extent are health variations sensitive to the provision of health and welfare services, and which aspects of health variation are most effectively targeted by health interventions? To what extent do health service reorganisations (past, present and future) impinge on health variations? How should interventions to reduce variations be monitored, and what are the appropriate time scales on which to judge policy success? Answers to these, and similar, questions are paramount to any effective and concerted action on health inequalities.

SOCIO-SPATIAL VARIATIONS IN HEALTH

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Box 31.1 Spatial patterns of longevity and deprivation in England Set against the policy framework of the Health of the Nation White Paper, Soni Raleigh and Kiri (1997) have examined the spatial association of life expectancy and socio-economic deprivation in the 105 District Health Authorities (DHAs) of England. As illustrated by a map of male life expectancy at birth (LEB) for the years 1992–4 (Figure 31.1), the analysis reveals that male longevity declines along a south-north gradient. So, with the exception of parts of Greater London, DHAs to the south, east and west of England generally display a high LEB (= 74.5 years). From here, life expectancies decline to intermediate levels in the Midlands, reaching their lowest values (LEB = 73.4 years) in some northern districts. Life expectancies for females mimic the same basic spatial pattern, albeit at relatively higher values of LEB. Aspects of the spatial association of life expectancy and socio-economic deprivation in the DHAs of England are examined graphically in Figure 31.2. The horizontal axis of each graph plots the 105 DHAs according to a seven-category ranking of a standard index of socio

economic deprivation (a Jarman Index, formed in Figure 31.2 such that category 1 represents the least deprived areas and category 7 the most deprived) against, on the vertical axis, various indices of life expectancy. Trend lines (linear regression lines fitted by ordinary least squares) and Pearson’s r correlation coefficients are shown to assist in the interpretation of the graphs. Figure 31.2 identifies three main features of the spatial association of life expectancy and socio-economic deprivation in England: 1

Life expectancy is inversely associated with the level of deprivation in an area For each deprivation category and DHA, Figure 31.2A plots estimates of LEB for males (lower line trace) and females (upper line trace) in the period 1992–4. While there is considerable variation in gender-specific life expectancy within a given deprivation category, the overall trends are for life expectancy to fall as the level of deprivation in an area increases. These visual associations are confirmed by the statistically significant Figure 31.1 Life expectancy at birth (LEB) for males in the district health authorities (DHAs) of England, 1992–4.

Source: Drawn from data in Soni Raleigh and Kiri 1997: Table 1, pp. 654–5.

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Box 31.1 continued and negative correlation coefficients for both males (r=-0.77; p